


People tell me I'm just like my daddy

by 1000lux



Series: A Crown for a Beggar [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alliances, Dragons, Family Secrets, M/M, Mentions of Past Torture, Mentions of past abuse, Negotiations, Self-Doubt, Westeros, White Walkers, Wildlings - Freeform, background dany/khal moro, being a king isn't easy, eventually jon/theon, fight against Stannis, jon meets the dragons, neither is winning a war, the wall - Freeform, viserys makes great new first impressions xD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2019-06-29 05:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15722478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000lux/pseuds/1000lux
Summary: Viserys starts his campaign for the Iron Throne.





	1. All hail the king

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own rights to either the books, the tv show or it's characters.
> 
> We've barely reached Westeros and already the number of characters increases exponentially. xD
> 
> This chapter is mostly world-building and setting up the following plot. And introducing a shit-load of 'new' characters.
> 
> The title is from the song 'Like my daddy' from the show Empire.

To everyone who said I'd never make it  
Oh Lord, weren't you mistaken

(Iggy Azalea - Heavy Crown)

****

"Now don't be jealous." Viserys says. "You've entertained yourselves well enough for what I heard."

They both freeze, as Viserys smirks at them. And however he learned about that... Daario will have to have a word with Varys.

There's no anger in Viserys' eyes. Only a dangerously glinting hunger that speaks of him getting his will with something. 

And so it comes to pass that Daario let's Drogo fuck him again while Viserys watches, looking like an hungry animal, all glinting teeth and red wine on his lips. And Daario shouldn't be as turned on by it as he is.

Sometimes inbetween Viserys will give a command, tell them how to move, what he wants to see.

"Uh-huh." Viserys says, biting his lip. "Turn around. I want you to look at each other."

"Do that. He likes that."

And when they're done, Viserys walks over and steps to them onto the large bed. He takes a few steps, looming above the two of them that are still lying there, catching their breaths, before he sinks down onto the mattress between them. He runs a hand over Daario's stomach that's still quivering as he draws in shaky breaths. Then he leans forward and laps up some of the cum that's covering Daario's stomach, licking his way up over his stomach, biting him right under his pec. Then he lies down beside him, lifting one long-limbed leg and nudging Drogo's face with his foot. The other turns his face, hand going up to grasp the foot, pressing a bite and then a kiss to it. Then Drogo crawls up to Viserys along the line of his leg. And he follows too, when Viserys pulls his face into his lap.

And Daario turns his head groggily and watches.

****

"Tell me, Lord Varys." Daenerys steps beside him. "You are a well-versed man of many talents. Surely you know more about the world than a girl without formal education, who's spent most of her life across an ocean."

"My lady, we are all aware of your wisdom and great instinct and your hand in guiding your brother."

"Indeed. We? What 'we' would that be? The people who wish me and my brother dead?" She smiles in a way that it usually unique to Viserys.

"Certainly especially your enemies are aware of your intelligence and great judgement." Varys replies without hesitation and a small bow.

"Yes, certainly. I know my friends, Lord Varys. I know them because we've been through ordeals of blood and pain and they stood with me unwaveringly. But my enemies, Lord Varys. I'm not so sure about that." She paused, regarding him in steely scrutiny. "You served my brother well, in Essos. When there was nothing on the line." she adds scathingly. "I make emotional decisions. It as weakness, I know. But I tend to decide whether to trust someone by that measure."

"Compassion and leniency is not a weakness."

"Especially for a Targaryen, you mean?" She snorts. "All your little birds, over at Essos, my Lord. Did they tell you my brother was cruel, stupid and weak?"

"My lady–"

"Did they tell you that I was fair, virtuous and kind? A close friend of mine once told me that he'd hoped I would assume my brother's place. People have strong feelings about my brother. They fear him, they despise him. They don't have such strong feelings about me. I am liked." she scoffs at the last word. "Don't be fooled, though, my Lord. Your birds have surely told you stories, but my brother is not who he used to be and neither am I."

"Who are you then, my Lady?"

"My brother's sister." She meets his eyes, hard and unforgiving. "I heard that it was you who used to send the assassins, for Robert, to murder us. Of course you only served your king." She smiles. "And don't worry, I understand that. But I also heard you were part in the brokering of the marriage between me and Khal Drogo. You like to play many games at a time, Lord Varys. And there were never more games to play at time than here right now."

"I assure you–"

"I personally don't like games. Not the ones with pieces and dice, not the ones with lives. My brother, he enjoys games. He enjoys showmanship and intrigue, because it gives him the chance to show everyone he's smarter than them, when everyone deemed him stupid for so many years. I grant him that. Because I love him and because he often is. As for you, Lord Varys, you should be very careful about the games you play here."

"I only act in the interest of your brother, my Lady."

"Experience, though, tells us that you are choosing allegiances as they suit you. I for one do not. I do not wish for unpleasant surprises. I feel rather protective, as a sister might for her only sibling. You will surely forgive me for that."

"My lady, you imply that I choose my alliances as it takes my fancy. I assure you I do not."

"Oh, no, you misunderstand. Not by fancy, by your best interest."

"I travelled all across the Narrow Sea to serve the House Targaryen."

"People have made that travel for a lot of reasons. To kill me and my brother for example."

"Incompetence should not be rewarded with loyalty."

"Excuse me?"

"I grew up on the streets, I lived in alleys, from scraps. My loyalty does not lie with any king, but with the people. I turned from kings who shouldn't have been wearing that crown in the first place. I do not believe that blood gives a person the right the govern over the lives of millions of people. It is something you earn, nothing you own." He pauses, gauging her reaction.

"My brother and I lived on the streets too, from time to time. As you certainly know, as you know everything about us." Dany replies. "And I agree. A king has to be worthy. Many, though, certainly concede that my brother has the birthright to be king, few though would call him worthy. Even many who've seen him do great things still fear him."

"Fear is nothing detrimental to a king."

"You know that I once turned against my brother, because I didn't believe in him any longer, because I didn't consider him worthy."

"I'm sure you–"

"I do not know whether you give me empty platitudes because you fear me, or because you do not respect me." Still Daenerys smiles.

"My lady, what do you want me to tell you? You tried to have your own brother killed, your last living relative. Were you justified? Certainly. Will that knowledge make you feel any better? I doubt it. You are not telling me this because you want my judgement, but as preamble to something else, so what else am I to give but platitudes?"

She smiles for real now. "I see you are not afraid of me, and you don't think I'm stupid either. Which is good. Alright, I will give you a question. You've known my father. When you look at my brother, do you see him?"

"I've seen your brother spare people he could have killed and kill people he could have spared. I've seen him take pleasure in violence. I do not understand why people are so obsessed with comparing him with Aerys. When was a son ever like his father?"

"My brother told me, when you arrived in Essos, you told him that he is the last chance for Westeros. People have been feeding my brother many promises over the years, many lies. He pretended to believe them, because he had to, pretended even to me, even to himself. But in his heart he never did. Had he, had he truly ever lived in such a delusion, he would have never despaired as he did." She goes on. "A seer once told us a prophecy about a king born from salt and smoke. Viserys laughed at it. But I believe it. The smoke people used to blow in his face, full of lies to deceive him, the tears he shed throughout the years. That is where he was born."

"Then you do know why I follow him. Because I agree that's where he was born. Because that's where someone who wants to rule should be born. Because the strength to rule just and to rule ruthless comes at a price."

"Then I think we understand each other, Lord Varys. I've learned what I needed tonight. Maybe you have too."

****

"I spent the night with a man once, at Griffin's Roost." Arianne tells him. "Most exotic creature I'd seen... until now." She smiles. "He looked like a Targaryen." Viserys who until now only smiled amused, sits up now. "I wondered back then, if that's what you would look like." she continues.

"He looked like a Targaryen?"

"He did look a lot like you, now that I can actually compare." Arianne replies, still smiling. 

"Are you exagerating?" Viserys asks again. 

"No. Same hair, same eyes. He was taller than you though, I think." she winks.

"At Griffin's Roost, you say?"

"Yes." She furrows a her brows. "He belonged to a sellsword company. He said his name's Lysono. He was from Essos. From Lys, I think."

****

"Against Stannis?" Tyrion states. "Why? Why go all the way up to the North?"

"In such a hurry to see your family, Tyrion?"

"Viserys. The North is the least of your problems. It seems a waste of time to travel all the way up there. Stannis will come to you on his own. He's not even at Dragonstone right now. He's up on the Wall."

"I don't care about Dragonstone. The castle won't go anywhere. I want all those in King's Landing to know I'm coming. I want them to know it and fear it."

"Isn't that a bit childish?"

Viserys grimaces. "Indulge me."

"Not that I have any love for my family left, but what's Cersei ever done to you?"

"Well, she sits on my throne for starters. And she and your brother are all that's left for me to take my revenge from."

"I'm not going to comment on that because I want her off that throne as much as you do. But take a moment to think who you sound like."

"Not my father." Viserys replies irritably.

"No. Robert."

Viserys face closes down. "I think you mistake your position, Lord Lannister. You haven't known me long enough to be talking to me like that."

"Of course," Tyrion bows. "My mistake, your Grace."

****

It's not just Oberyn who sends his three daughters with him. Arianne also sends with him a troop of Dayne soldiers, led by the current head of the House Dayne of Hermitage, the twenty-two years old Gerold Dayne. Who is said to be as good a swordfighter as his deceased cousin and, which amuses Viserys to no end, is also a former lover of his wife. Viserys notes that he has the traditional stony Dornish looks, with pale skin and purple eyes. He's heard they tend to have light blond hair too, sometimes. This one's hair, though, looks silver blond and has a striking strand of black hair.

"Is this dyed?" Viserys asks, curiously, walking up to the man.

The man in question eyes him through suspicious and angry eyes, which Viserys doesn't take as an insult, since that's what the man looks like most of the time for what he's seen of him. He can tell why Arianne would have went for him, as he's certainly striking, but this sour nature couldn't have been much fun. Even though, he has to concede, being in the entourage of the man who married your former lover can't be much fun in the first place. Anyways, he's presented with a confused and hostile, "What?" by Ser Dayne.

"Your hair. Is it naturally like this?" Viserys iterates friendly.

"Yes..." comes the narrow-eyed reply. And that's it. Not elaboration, no attempt to converse with Viserys any further.

"Interesting. Ser Dayne–"

"Darkstar."

"Excuse me?"

"People call me Darkstar."

Viserys raises both eyebrows. Oh my, it looks like his troop is becoming more and more eccentric with every passing minute. "Very well, Darkstar. Would you like to spar against some of my men?"

This time there's no confusion and even somewhat belligerent joy in those perpetually narrowed purple eyes. "Yes."

Viserys sends him against several Dothraki. He defeats all of them. Viserys can see the respect in their eyes.

****

"I don't like him." Oberyn states, as they're having a glass of wine the night before he's set to leave.

"Who now?" Viserys raises an eyebrow.

"My niece's former paramour who she saw fit to impose on you."

"The way I see it, she shared your proclivity to fuck anything that took her fancy, so I'm not assuming that's the issue you take with him. Also, as long as he's with me I'd say there's no reason to worry."

"My niece isn't dumb enough to cheat on you and cheat herself out of providing the next heir to the throne. That's not the issue here. But Gerold... he's dangerous. Very attractive, granted. And a great sword-fighter. Certainly the best in Dorne. But he's poison. He has a vicious and dark nature. I never quite understood him. I know what my sister saw in him, surely. He's been part of her personal guard since the day she set eye on him. I warned her. Her father warned her. Hell, my daughters warned her. That's maybe the one good thing, they'll be with you on this trip. You can say no, you know."

"Say no to my newly-wedded wife at her first request?" Viserys raises an amused eyebrow. "I wouldn't dream to."

****

"So tell me, Varys, what's going on in the North. Who's winning? Bolton or Stannis?"

"For what my sources tell me, Stannis has regrouped in the far end of the North, near the Wall, while Ramsay Bolton is still holding his position as warden of the North at Winterfell."

"Ramsay? What happened to Roose?"

"Ramsay murdered him." Varys states with a polite smile. "Shortly after his marriage to Lady Sansa which had been facilitated by Lord Baelish."

There's a curse coming from the corner of the room, where Arya's moving out of the shadows of the wall in which she seemed to vanish.

"To that pig?!" she exclaims. "The Boltons are all crazy! And Roose murdered our mother and Robb! Why would she agree to that?!"

"Desperate times, my Lady." Varys simply says.

"Wasn't she still married to Tyrion?" Viserys asks, slouching in his chair.

Tyrion smiles curtly. "I'm assuming that marriage was anulled in my absence."

****

"How could she do that?" Arya utters, anger and hate in her voice and also disblief, in a way that makes her still look like a little girl.

"Don't judge her too harshly." Viserys says. "We all do desperate things, when we're alone and scared."

"Not that."

"Why not? You're sister's been used like a gambling stone in this since the beginning. I should know. I used my sister once in quite the same way and it drove her to desperate measures too. She has no friends and family left. At least she's away from King's Landing and back in the North now."

"If she did it of her free will, I'm not going to forgive her that."

"Really? She's your family. And my sister's forgiven me worse."

Arya gives him a cold, calculating smile. "Maybe she shouldn't have."

Viserys returns the smile, amusement in it. "Maybe."

****

Dorne keeps quiet. But as soon as Viserys travels on, there are whispers. Sightings of dragons, immediately dismissed. Some think maybe Euron Greyjoy really brought the dragons back as he claims, but mostly no one believes it. No one wants to believe that there are still dragons. Just like no one wants to believe in the White Walkers.

****

Jon's just sent the arrow. Mance's head has only just slumped down, the flames hitting higher and higher around him. When something unexpected happens. Jon sees dragons. Not that he's ever seen dragons to compare. Except in books. But that's the only thing it could be. And he's seen too much these past years, to doubt that anything is anything other than what it looks like.

The sky darkens and there's noise from above. Like the flapping of wings, only louder. It stops everyone from everything they're doing. No one even tries shooting, they all just stare. Soldiers, Crows and Wildlings alike. Everyone's heard the rumors that Viserys Targaryen has landed in Dorne (even on the Wall these rumors reach them eventually), but they've had these rumors for years now. And never had there been an ounce of truth to them. It seems Viserys Targaryen has been just about to cross the Narrow Sea ever since he left in the first place. That's the thing about rumors and people's fears. No one believed he'd ever return. To be honest, Jon hadn't even believed most of the stories about his accomplishments in Essos. Not that he spent a lot of time thinking about kings on removed continents. 

But here the dragons are, undeniably.

One of them lands, while the other two circle above them. A very fair-haired young man gets off it, gliding to the ground gracefully. All clad in white wool, with a white fur collar around his neck and white fur boots. The only reason those are still white, Jon thinks, is because he flew in. But it's a stark contrast, he with his nearly white hair, pale skin, white clothes and startling eyes, when they all here look how you look when you fight in mud and cold. Both Baratheon soldiers and Crows in equally dark outfits. Jon has no respect for showmanship, still he can't deny the effect. Which is to say something, because you would think the focus would be on the dragons.

The supposed Targaryen heir doesn't seem to be worried about the soldiers armed to their teeth. But who would with three such creatures at his side, when everyone still seems too frozen to even move, other than to scramble away from the dragon as far as possible.

"Who are you?" Stannis is the first to speak.

The man smiles. "Viserys Targaryen."

A double-take and murmurs go through the rows of people, as if there could have really been any doubt to the ancestry of the man in front of them. Even the Wildlings know about the fall of House Targaryen.

"What do you want?" Stannis asks with admirable posture.

Viserys Targaryen smiles. "I've come to ask you to bend the knee, Lord Baratheon. And of course to give up my ancestral home."

During all this time, Jon stays in the background. No one takes much notice of him. 

With two warring wannabe kings outside his door, Jon does the only reasonable thing, he returns to Castle Black.

****

"The king in the North, the king in the South, the Night King! And now the fucking heir of the fucking house of Targaryen!" Jon paces up and down the room, back at Castle Black.

"What is this going to mean for us?" Sansa asks.

"Means, we're still screwed if we can't convince one of them to help us with the Walkers." Theon says quietly from the corner of the room where he sits in front of the fire. 

Jon slumps down heavily, on his bed, face buried in his hands.

"Chances are he's as obsessed with King's Landing as Stannis."

"Yeah. Chances are pretty high."

"But his dragons could be our only chance." Theon adds softly. "Before that our chances were pretty small. Even if we were to man all the castles."

"People did it 8000 years ago. We can do it again. Dragons or no dragons."

****

"It went well," Drogo comments as Viserys returns to camp.

"How do you figure that?" Viserys asks, looking at his boots in distaste, that are no longer quite white. You would think in frost there's not much dirt that's actually still loose enough to catch.

"The forest's not on fire." Drogo shrugs.

"Come on." Now Viserys' actually smiling again, smirking more precisely. "I wouldn't do that. I'm older and wiser now."

"Yes, my love. Of course you are." Drogo chuckles.

"I know you like posturing but maybe put on a cap before your ears freeze off."

"What now?" Dany asks.

"Let's give him a chance." Viserys stretches contently. "Let's give him a chance to understand his position."

****

There's a meeting. A formal meeting between the two parties. Viserys Targaryen's full army has arrived by now, making their camp close to that of Stannis. Warriors that look more like Wildlings, with dark skin and dark eyes. And a huge number of soldiers who train in perfect unison from early in the morning till late at night, moving like one great machine. Jon sees them from the battlements of Castle Black, each morning.

They arrive at the meeting, that's on neutral ground, officiated by Jon himself.

The sister too this time. The likeness to her brother undeniable. A ballsy move to bring her here, when the only other women here are Melisandre and the Wildling warriors. 

The two Targaryens. She looks as fair and ethereal as him. Disturbing in combination with their dragons. Perfect and pristine. Moving like one unit despite not moving in synch. They look so much alike. Probably because they look different than everybody else here.  
Jon remembers his father talking about Robert still not giving up his need for revenge. Sending assassin after assassin after them. Jon also remembers his talk with the old Targaryen maester, back when he tried to flee to help his family. Despite knowing that man, the Targaryens still had seemed like something from history books, even if their eradication wasn't that long ago. But here they are. Majestic and dangerous like the legends of old. Brother and sister, and their dragons. Like the first Targaryens to come to Westeros from Valyria.  
After having seen the Night King he shouldn't be intimidated by them. But he is. By their surreal symmetrical beauty and the deadliness of their dragons. But he knows at the bottom line they're just another incestuous, power-hungry family. Another House Lannister. Another Cersei and Jaime.

Stannis starts the meeting. "You called for this meeting, Lord Targaryen. So speak."

Viserys smiles. He enjoys that no one asked him to prove his ancestry. But that would have been ridiculous, given the proof he came riding in on. But it sure has a special ring to it, to be referred to as Lord Targaryen, in Westeros. Even more than the 'Your Grace' he was adressed as in Dorne. Because yes, he's not just some king, he's Targaryen.

"Do not tell me you are not happy for this. What you've seen of my army is only a fraction of it. Also, did you notice my dragons?"

"The Lord of Light is with my king and protects him." the woman, who's either the red priestess Varys told him about or Stannis' wife, tells him.

"How nice of him." Viserys states. "I don't believe in gods. Neither yours, nor the old ones, or whichever. So I do not care about that."

"You should. The Lord of Light has destroyed all the usurpers who have come, and he will continue to do so."

"Stannis, you have the chance now to end a war, which has cost many lifes already and which you have no chance at all at winning."

"And how would you know?" Stannis replies. "Were you there at the battle of Blackwater or at any of them? You come into this war when it's nearly over and expect us to bend to your will!"

"Yes. Exactly. Only the war isn't nearly over. Robert died five years ago and neither of you managed to do anything remotely close to ending this war. The Lannisters hold onto their shaking throne with tooth and nail, you wallow away in the North because you have nowhere else to go, the Starks managed to get themselves killed."

"My lords, my lords!" Jon finally speaks up, as he's realising this meeting won't be going on for much longer the way things are going.

"Who are you?" Jon is met by the icy gaze of the Lord Targaryen.

"I'm Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

The man narrows his eyes. "Very well. What do you want then?"

He knows very well what he wants, the question is how is he supposed to convince this man, when he couldn't convince Stannis, who to him is a rather reasonable man, other than his clinging to his violent religion. And this new king, he seems brash and arrogant. He's not conducting this meeting with the respect that Jon expected. "Lord Targaryen, Lord Baratheon already knows that, but there's a much more urgent threat than the question of who's sitting on the Iron Throne."

"Oh my, and what is that? Enlighten me." Viserys has no idea what the Stark bastard could possibly want other than to complain about the Wall lacking enough men or something like that. But he's impressed by the fact that he at all dared to speak up in this conversation.

"The White Walkers are back. They are approaching the Wall. The Wildlings have already fled across the Wall to escape them. In a few months it will be too late and they will be here. So you can fight for who's going to be king next, all you want," Jon says, soldiering on under the Targaryen's scrutiny. "But once the White Walkers come over the Wall, we'll all be dead."

"The White Walkers aren't real." Viserys says. "No one's seen them in centuries."

"Like your dragons?" Jon replies.

And then the Targaryen's face changes from the cold amusement he's shown before. He laughs. Not mocking but appreciative. "You are right." He's still grinning. "You are absolutely right. I shouldn't doubt something just because it's unlikely, especially when it's unlikely." He actually winks at Jon. "Alright, let's say the White Walkers are there. Why shouldn't the Wall hold? That's what it's been build for after all."

"See, but it won't, my Lord!" Jon adds quickly. "I've seen them and they're too many. Too many by far!"

"Are you sure? Were you there when they first were defeated? I will take a look at them. And once I'm on the throne, my men and my dragons will help you with repelling them–"

"Then it will be too late!"

"That's enough, Lord Commander!" Stannis interrupts him.

****

"That priestess is bad news," Daario says when they return from the meeting.

"I'm not scared of magic." Viserys snorts derisively. "You didn't see what I did to the Undying."

"You should be." Daario says darkly.

"I have probably more magic in my blood than that bitch would know what to do with. I'm not from some random Westerosi house. I'm Valyrian."

****

One of his dragons, Justice, falls sick shortly afterwards. She starts coughing blood, howling through the night ever more weakly.

"She did something to them."

"We don't know that."

 

"I want a meeting with the witch."

"Are you mad?!"

"If she could do something to me, she'd have already done it."

 

"What did you do?" Viserys asks the red-haired witch.

"I did nothing. I only bring about the will of the Lord of Light."

"Undo it. Heal her." Viserys demands.

"Go away, young lord."

"I swear to the gods and your lord of light, you'll die screaming if she doesn't survive."

The witch only smiles at him patronizingly. "No one can defeat the Lord of Light." she says with zeal in her voice.

"Into burning people alive, isn't he, your god? That's something I know a lot about. 'The bringer of light', well, I am the bringer of fire." He gets closer to the priestess, so close they might be lovers about to kiss. "And I swear to you, I will burn them all. The old gods and the new one's. Whoever gets in my way."

The priestess looks at him with something like regret, a hand touching his cheek. "You'll be dead soon, young prince."

****

Justice doesn't die. She doesn't get better either.

"Have faith." Dany says.

"In what?"

"A dragon is an ancient magical creature. Remember when I nearly died after the witch's curse. We are dragons, Viserys. We are a lot more resilient than people give us credit for."

****

Viserys doesn't dare bring his dragons near the priestess again. Without them, in battle everything turns out a lot harder then anticipated. The Unsullied and the Dothraki are unfamiliar with the terrain. With the uneven, frozen forest ground, riding is out of the question anyway.

****

Viserys moves through the carnage and utter destruction, knowing, he did this. It's his fault. All the dead Unsullied lying there, bodies and limbs strewn over the floor.

"This is war, my lord." Tyrion says.

****

While the battle between him and Stannis is going on, there's still the Stark bastard hanging around. Constantly trying to convince them to stop fighting and join together in the fight against the White Walkers.

****

"You fought well, Ser Dayne." Viserys says.

"It is what I do."

"What do you aspire to, Ser? In life."

"Becoming better than my uncle, the Sword of Morning."

"Shouldn't you want to become better than Ned Stark? As I recall he bested him."

"There's no way Ned Stark would have ever been able to defeat him." Darkstar hisses nastily.

"History is told by the survivors." Viserys assents, knowing that truth all too well.

"And sometimes it isn't told at all."

****

Things are relatively good otherwise, all things considered, given that he's crossed an ocean and finally returned to his home country. It certainly felt a lot nicer and kingly in Dorne. But if there's one thing Viserys' learned, it's that beggars can't be choosers. In this case, if you want to conquer seven kingdoms, you can't just stay in the one with the nicest weather, where you've just married a princess.

Sure, the weather is a shock. He doesn't remember the last time he actually had winter. The climate is so fucking hot in Essos. All things considered, he doesn't think he's ever been in the North in the seven years he actually spent in Westeros. He doesn't even think he's ever left King's Landing.

But he's dealing with the cold and so are his people. Commendably so. Well, some better, some not so much. The Dothraki are freezing their asses off, despite the winter clothing Viserys saw fit to buy for them. The Unsullied, though, are taking the temperature stoically just as everything else. The Second Sons curse a lot more than the Dothraki, but he's not sure if that's just because they like to do that. Of the three of them Daario probably adjusted quickest, having gone beyond the wall with the Wildlings many times, to hunt. The Wildlings, shaggy hair and cloth that looks like it's made crudely from deer skin or something similar. They look wild indeed. But compared to his Dothraki, they look tame. Daario has already befriended them, when technically it's not even clear if they're friend or enemy. Just like with the obnoxious Lord Commander, Viserys doesn't know what to make of the Wildlings. Despite the enmity one would think to be between Wildlings and Crows, they seem to be sheltered by Jon Snow. He knows they are at odds with Stannis but still Snow seems to be sort of allied with Stannis at the same time. Whatever he is, one thing's for sure, not neutral.

****

It's been snowing constantly for days. The ground is frozen solid. Viserys made the mistake of using his dragons to melt the ground and it turned into a soggy mess. It's barely possible to move forward anylonger. Men and horses alike get stuck knee deep in the mudd that looks more like a swamp with every passing day.

His dragons fire is certainly not useful to thaw ice, so regular baths become a thing of the past too.

"I smell awful."

"We all do, darling." Daario replies, rebraiding his hair after he actually got the chance to wash it today. Viserys would consider that a risk to catch a cold but Daario is sometimes even more vain than he is. Viserys would love to say Targaryen hair doesn't get greasy, but it certainly does. He's also learned that being impervious to fire doesn't do dick for you if you're in the fucking kingdom of frozen bullshit. "I would love to tell you that you look nice but–"

"Yeah, I look like I'm homeless."

"But impecably dressed." Daario grins. Then, "Come here." he beckons him over. "I could braid your hair too."

Viserys actually slumps down in front of him.

"You know, this is the first step away from civilisation. I need a castle."

"I heard there are a few ones empty along the Wall."

He can't see him winking, but Viserys knows he is.

****

Drogo comes upon Viserys talking to one of his dragons, the one who's sick.

"Look at you," Viserys says, patting Justice on the snout. "You used to be so cute. And now you're this big, fat oaf." The words are spoken with startling tenderness.

Drogo's not sure the dragon understands or whether she just reacts to his tone, but she seems enchanted nonetheless, crooning in a way a several tons heavy, fire-spitting monster shouldn't be able to.

****

»Remember how I said I hated the desert?«

»Yeah?«

»I hate it here too.«

Drogo just laughs. Until his horse slips on the ice and nearly throws him off.

****

The battle does start to look more like stalling. Large melees aren't possible due to the terrain. And the greatest battle starts to be keeping supplies coming. 

They have stuff on the ships of course. But in this climate everyone's health is at a low. And they'd need a supply of fresh fruit and vegetable they don't have. Flu, dysentery and the like seem to circle in his camp. And here the Unsullied aren't impervious either.

It seems only about 30% of his army are in fighting shape at the same time.

Tyrion and Varys, though, the fucking Westerosi, are just fine. Darkstar and the Dornish soldiers too. Which would be helpful. If they weren't led by Darkstar who Viserys doesn't really trust, which subsequently means he doesn't really trust his wife. But how could he? He barely knows her. The Sand Snakes he likes, but they don't lead, they fight.

The most worried he's for Rhaego. And he wonders why the fuck he didn't leave Dany and him in Dorne. But simple, because he doesn't feel he can protect them if he doesn't have them constantly in his sight. And honestly he can't imagine this whole campaign happening without his sister.

****

Rhaego and Dany, though, are the only ones who stay healthy. Viserys himself comes down with a fever. Grey Worm catches the same flu as Viserys. Daario gets some eye infection that has him basically blind, despite the physician claiming that it'll pass without damages. Drogo with his perpetual cough, basically since they got here, sounding like he's about to bring his lungs up, is for now the only one who can actually still attend war council.

****

Dany is out in the snow with Rhaego, when Khal Moro approaches, smiling unsurely. Then he wordlessly starts building a snow horse for Rhaego to sit on. And Dany finds herself smiling.

****

"What do you want, Dothraki?"

Drogo is impressed by Daario's perception. He even looks in the somewhat correct direction.

"Check you haven't suddenly died."

"I'm blind, not sick. How's Viserys?"

"Still sick. But he's having a high time making everyone jump to his bidding, even more than usually. Well, Missandei at least seems to enjoy herself. Dany doesn't even bother coming in any longer. You want to go see him?"

"Funny."

"I'll take you." Drogo amends, the slight for once not intended.

The mercenary looks unsure for a moment, vulnerable in a way Drogo can imagine only too well, a warrior himself. No one wants to be so helpless. And there's always the question if it will heal.

Daario flinches involuntarily when he feels the Dothraki's hand on his arm, even though he's touched him in a lot different places by now. But in situations where he was in control of his senses. Not like this. 

Drogo's touch is surprisingly firm and gentle, though, when he helps him to his feet and leads him outside, not even making him bang his head anywhere. The path becomes more perilous by the patches of ice outside.

Drogo leads the mercenary through the camp, trying to keep him upright without belittling him in front of the soldiers. After his inial tense posture eventually Daario holds onto his arm.

The thing with Viserys aside, Drogo realises he likes the mercenary. He doesn't come from a culture where he couldn't respect Daario at least for his abilities as a warrior. His own defeat nonwithstanding. And he's become accostumed to his presence. The thought of killing him that once seemed so pressing feels unimportant now.

Viserys' tent announces itself already through loud coughing and groaning. It makes Daario smile beside himself. As always everything about Viserys has to be so over the top.

Daario can't see it, but inside there are several servants, who give Viserys sips of tea, fan him, put herbal compressions on his calves, wipe his forehead, and Drogo's pretty sure some are only there to wring their hands and offer soothing acknowledgement to Viserys' woes.

When Viserys notices them, he turns around, lifting his head a little. His face is flushed with fever, hair sticking sweaty to his head.

"Hey," he croaks. "How are you, Daario?"

Drogo doesn't lead the mercenary closer. The last thing he needs is a fever when his body is already battling another infection.

"I'm fine." Daario smirks ironically. The bandage around his eyes is obvious to see for everyone but him. "How are you?"

"Bad." Viserys says mournfully, letting himself fall back into the pillows.

"I'm sorry to hear that, darling." Daario replies with the eternal patience he always seems to have with their shared object of affection. "I hope you'll get better soon. Try not to think too much about everything outside. Just concentrate on yourself."

"Yeah." Viserys sighs. "I try." Then, "You too, you know. You'll get better. And if you don't, we deal with that too."

Drogo feels Daario tense, wonders why he's even still holding onto him. The mercenary isn't going to fall out of a stand, inside the tent.

"Yes, of course." Daario makes a valiant attempt at a smile.

Before Drogo turns to lead him away again, Viserys catches his eye. "Thank you."

Drogo just smiles.

 

Why he lingers, who knows? Maybe pity.

"He's right." Drogo says. "He won't abandon you, even if you go blind."

Daario snorts harshly. "I don't think he would. That won't make me any less blind, any less useless."

Drogo tries to think of any comforting commonplaces he's learned from Dany. Before he's any chance for it, the mercenary stops him. 

"Save it. You're not helping."

That should be his dismissal. But it isn't.

The mercenary sinks to the floor in front of Drogo, hands holding onto Drogo's thighs for both guidance and balance, with his sight gone. Still he easily pulls open Drogo's breeches.

They have done this particular thing before. At Viserys' request. So Drogo knows his touch. It's different now, a slight hesitancy, when everything that used to be seen has to be learned by touch alone. A slight shiver in the fingers that brush across his flesh, his hip bones. A feathery brush of lips.

Then Daario forgets himself in his task. As if the lack of his eyesight makes everything else more instinctual. As if the other senses, touch and taste, are what he needs to indulge in now, to make up for the lack of the other. Drogo thinks he might as well not be there at all, is not sure the mercenary notices him at all other for what he needs him for. Still he grabs a handful of those long braids, not quite to remind the man of his presence with a sharp tug, maybe just to add another sensory impulse.

It's over quickly. Drogo knows the capabilities of the mercenary's wicked mouth. Has seen Viserys come apart under it, as well as experienced it himself.

Naharis lets go of him only for a moment, pulls himself back to his feet on Drogo's body. The only landmark in the darkness his world is turned into.

"Thanks," Daario says shortly, wiping his mouth, before he navigates his own way back to the table, for a cup of wine. This tent the only place where he has a chance at all to navigate his own way.

Drogo doesn't reply anything, but he doesn't think the other is expecting a reply, knows though that Drogo understands his position, understands why this was needed.

****

Three weeks. Three weeks it takes for Viserys' health to return to something resembling normalcy. Grey Worm is long back on his feet, and even Daario was fine after two weeks. But Viserys, the smallest exertion returns all symptoms. And even after sore throat and congestion have cleared, he still feels perpetually exhausted. 

****

"We're wasting ressources." Tyrion states matter-of-factly. "You're planning to fight three different factions. Only to then have a country that's about to be overrun by undead creatures."

"Hey, I still don't believe that."

"You'll slowly deplete your forces. Is it worth it?"

"Of course."

"And in the end you'll have to return to Essos and free your cities all over again. I bet rumor has it you're already everything from died on the oversea travel to having been killed in battle."

Viserys tsks. "Anyone who knows me at least a little knows I'd never actually fight myself."

"The longer your battle against Stannis takes the more everyone else will take their chances rather than yielding."

"You'd rather I'd have flown straight to King's Landing, burned down the city and sat down on the Iron Throne before it's even cooled down again? I thought we'd established that I don't want to rule over a kingdom of corpses?"

"Yes, we have." Tyrion is silent for a moment, twisting his cup of wine in his thickly gloved hands. Then, "Have you ever considered that maybe this war is for naught? As much as I want my sister off the throne, this isn't your war. You might only see the bad parts about your exile, but it also means that you owe no one here anything." 

"No." Viserys replies.

"Because you're too proud."

"Because I'm unwilling to consider that my ordeals could have been for naught."

"We could be back in Essos in a few weeks."

"My friend, our future holds only two possibilities. We'll be in King's Landing, or we'll be dead."

****

=Talk to me.=

=We will win.= Grey Worm says. =Eventually. This takes time. We are not in full strength and we're all getting used to climate and terrain.=

=Tyrion says this is weakining my position.=

=There's no such thing as smooth war. We'll run into a lot more unexpected obstacles along the way. We should be happy that we have the chance now to test ourselves in this controlled environment. With the Wall in our backs there's no danger of nasty surprises.=

=Have you been in situations like this before?=

=Not quite, but yes. Our training wasn't plain theoretical. We could be rented before, for training purposes. Before we were put on sale. I've seen battle. Many, no matter our terrible training, fall in the real thing. The fear of death is something hard to shake.=

=But you don't have it.=

=It's an inevitable and natural process. None of the men here have it. That's why we're still here.=

=Yeah.= Viserys agrees pensively.

=The Dothraki neither. Nor Naharis, for similar reasons as me and my brothers.=

=Not me.=

=Not being afraid of death can be helpful. But that fear is also a strong motivator.=

=I realise it's unlikely I'll get killed, wild arrows nonwithstanding. But shit happens. And it would really pathetic if I died of something like the flu out here. It's funny that it was ten times more likely for me to die in Qarth or Astapor than here in Westeros where all my enemies are.=

****

He has to remember that Essos wasn't idle happiness either. It was constant battle, to the last second. Never any peace, never a moment to catch his breath. Except maybe in Yunkai. Before he burned it to the ground. The rebuilding is going well at least, as his reports tell him.


	2. Of wolves and men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust is a two-way street. Or a double-edged sword.

"The Lord Command invites you into Castle Black."

The reason he agrees to that invitation is not because of heating, bathtubs and of course walls. No, definitely not.

He takes enough people to prevent an ambush. Of course Dany and Rhaego. Varys. Tyrion stays behind. Drogo and Daario. Gerold Dayne, because technically he's the representative of Dorne and higher ranking than the Sand Snakes, and he has to show Dorne respect one way or other. Arya of course. 

Dany and him ride in on Vengeance, just for the hell of it. The Lord Commander seems both displeased by this and fascinated.

Inside the great hall, the very young Lord Commander is sitting. As far as he recounts the ages of the Stark children, he's probably about twenty-two now, which makes him quite a few years Viserys' junior. Beside him sit a red haired girl, which he'd assume to be one of his sisters, given the likelihood to the Starks. Or well, anything Viserys' been told about what Starks look like, for he can't claim to have seen much of them, except of course Lyanna. Her he remembers well. The woman looks nothing like her though. And it seems unlikely anyway, given that Arya's with him and Sansa with the Boltons. 

Right now, Jon Snow is talking to the man sitting beside him, who looks a few years older, but not enough to justify the grey that's already streaking his red hair. Also red hair, but not a Stark. There's no Stark alive who'd fit his age. A lot of Starks who can't be Starks. Interesting. More bastards he didn't know of?

They're whispering to each other and then Jon Snow turns around and looks at him. He gets up from his chair. And walks towards Viserys. He bows. Not very deep, but deep enough to mollify Viserys.

"Lord Targaryen." Jon greets him. "Thank you for following my invitation." 

"My pleasure, Lord Commander. I would also direct my greetings at your two companions, if I knew who they are."

Jon seems a little brough up short, then, "This is my sister, Lady Sansa Stark. And this is Theon Greyjoy."

"Oh, I see. Lady Stark. Greyjoy." He gives them both nods.

"Lord Targaryen, I invited you here in renewed hope that you would see the necessity of my efforts to raise an army against the White Walkers."

"So, you're claiming you've actually seen the White Walkers?"

"Not only that. A friend of mine has killed one of them."

"Then I don't see why you would need my help at all."

"My Lord," He can tell Snow is trying to stay patient. "They outnumber us by far–"

"I've only just come here from across the Narrow Sea, and you haven't managed to convince just one of the lords, who've lived here all their lives, of your claim. You're seeing my problem with this?"

"It is the truth I tell you here." Jon says stoically but indignated.

"The truth, huh?" Viserys takes a few steps forward, gaze trailing between Snow and the man who he just learned is Theon Greyjoy. "What happened to you then, Greyjoy?" he asks. "I heard you burned down Winterfell, I heard you killed our good Lord Commander's youngest brothers. Why is it then you're suddenly friends now?" He looks at Jon. "Did you do this?" He points at Theon's hands, where three fingers in total are missing.

"No!" Both Jon and Theon seem equally horrified by the suggestion.

"What happened then? In my experience the murder of family and destruction of ancestral homes doesn't exactly end in enternal friendship. And those wounds are not hunting accidents."

The following exchange completely excludes Viserys.

"You don't have to tell him, Theon." Jon Snow is quick to say.

"If you want him to believe you, he needs to trust you." Greyjoy answers face set in resolution or maybe resignation.

"He will believe me when he sees them." Jon declares, looking at Viserys defiantly.

Viserys follows the conversation with interest, noting again the ease and trust with which these two interact, which doesn't at all resemble any level of discomfort or hard feelings.

"Well?" Viserys prompts again.

In this moment, a shocked exclaim of "Arya!" stops further conversation, as Lady Sansa has taken notice of her sister who has kept herself in the background so far, and jumps up to rush towards her. Both Snow's and Greyjoy's heads turn the same moment, staring at the girl like she's an apparition.

That kinda cuts the meeting short. And Viserys graciously declares that they'll speak later and he'd like to be shown to his rooms now.

****

Jon and Sansa carefully approach their sister, somehow not daring to hug her, now that they're in private.

She's happy enough to see them. But there's something distant about her, something dangerous and dark, when neither Jon nor Sansa are strangers to darkness themselves. How could they be after everything that's happened?

****

God, he really should have stocked up on Westerosi gossip. But the last few months in Essos, he really had both hands full with his own problems. So, some things that have been happening here, just slipped past his radar. He's honestly glad he's managed to keep in mind who's holding which parts right now.

"What's Sansa Stark doing at the Wall? Viserys asks once he's returned to his rooms inside the castle.

"I don't know yet, but I'll find out." Varys says.

****

Viserys takes matters into his own hand as he strolls through the castle in the evening, looking into each and every nook and cranny. He's never been to the Wall, obviously. And he has to admit this is a little bit exciting. 

Not many people are still on their feet. Those crows he meets seem ill at ease around him but don't dare to stop or even address him either.

In the yard when he checks up on Vengeance (not that she needs much checking up on) he runs into a couple Wildlings. 

A tall red-head addresses him. "Oi! You're that Targaryen dragon king, aren't you?"

Viserys only nods ironically at Vengeance who's gone back to sleep. "I'd say I quite doubtlessly am. Who are you? Mance Ryder?"

"Mance Ryder died the day you arrived here." the man says darkly.

"Shame. I'd have liked to meet him."

"He wasn't one much for kings."

"So I figured." Viserys smiles mildly.

"You gonna help Jon?"

Viserys raises an eyebrow at the familiarity between the Wildlings and the young Lord Snow. "Who knows? I even might. What about you? Your king is dead. Do you serve Snow now?"

"We serve no king."

"Now that might pose a problem. But then again, neither do I." He chuckles. The Wildling looks at him weirdly.

 

For the fact that there are few people still up and about, his number of interesting run-ins isn't over yet. Who else he finds is also Theon Greyjoy. 

He stumbles upon him in what has to be a public bathhouse, but which is abandoned now, except for the man in question, who jolts upright the moment he hears Viserys.

Jon tells him he can have the water ordered to his room, but Theon doesn't feel like singling himself any further out than he already is. Usually there's no one here at this time, so Theon hears it immediately when the door opens. Of all people it's the Targaryen, who for the things you hear is exactly as crazy as his uncle Euron, if not more. 

Theon isn't quick enough to cover himself and so tries to keep his dignity as he slowly walks over to where his towel and his clothes are, trying to gauge the reaction of the other, to decide what he thinks of him.

The Targaryen's eyes stray cursory over him but pass his lower parts without particular scrutiny. "We meet again. I take it you're not part of that little reunion."

"What?–" Theon replies, taken off guard. "Err... no. I'm not... I'm not family."

"Hmm." the Targaryen concedes that. Then, "So, what are you doing here?"

Theon looks helplessly around himself in the bathhouse.

"No," Viserys says. "Here. At the Wall." He makes an exagerated gesture.

"I'm... I..." Good question. What is he doing here? Hiding. "I came here with Lady Sansa."

"That's very little information you're all providing here, given that you wish to garner my trust and support. You're here, she's here. That's plain to see. The question is, why though. The last I heard, she had married Lord Bolton. News that much dismayed the little assassin I came with. If you came with her, were you at the Dreadfort yourself? What were you doing there? Were you allied with the Boltons?"

"I was at the Dreadfort, with Lady Sansa. But my allegiance doesn't lie with the Boltons."

"I'm assuming the marriage wasn't such a happy one, then?"

"What?... No, it wasn't." Theon is utterly unprepared for this turn of conversation, or any conversation with this self-proclaimed king, at all.

"That answers my question as to why she's here. But not why you're here. You did not exchange her for your safety, Snow doesn't treat you like an enemy. So what is it? Family ties still strong enough? I seriously doubt that."

"I didn't kill Bran and Rickon."

"I see. Still..."

"The Lord Commander is just kind enough to offer me refuge."

"Refuge from what?"

"You saw me. You know from what."

Understanding dawns on the Targaryens face, then he looks sick. "He didn't hurt Lady Sansa like that too, did he?"

"No." Theon shakes his head. Then he asks what's been really on his mind, for their whole conversation already. "You didn't seem appalled."

"I'm pretty sure I was appalled right now."

"No. Earlier. When you came in here tonight."

A moment of noncomprehension, then, "Oh. Yes. I've seen plenty of that. You've heard about my army, surely." 

So the stories are true, about the feared army of eunuchs Viserys Targaryen is leading. Theon didn't think it could be true. But if he'd had any doubt, Viserys' indifference is irrefutable proof. You can't fake nonchalance for something that makes even the most callous men cringe and avert their eyes in disgust and horror. 

"I have one question." the Targaryen now disrupts his line of thought.

"Yes." Theon swallows.

"Don't worry, while I'd like to know what you were doing at the Dreadfort in the first place, this question is of different nature. If you could secure me the Greyjoy allegiance..." Viserys starts.

"I can't secure you anything." Theon speaks up in a listless voice.

"Why not?"

Theon laughs, harshly, tiredly. "I have no more claim."

"What about your sister?"

"My sister is my uncle's prisoner. He delivered her into Cersei's hands. He is commanding the Greyjoy fleet. And they are sworn to the Lannisters. Not that my uncle is prone to keeping his word. But trust me, my lord, you do not want my uncle's allegiance."

"He's not trustworthy?"

"He's barely human."

"Now you got me intrigued."

"You shouldn't be. Even though, maybe I should have expected you would."

"Will you speak to Snow on my behalf?"

"I... Me?"

"You clearly have his ear. I would ask Sansa, but I doubt it would have gone over well, had I walked in on her bath." He laughs.

"What about Arya?"

"Arya and me have a business relationship. And I'm not sure her words of death and retribution will sway our big-hearted Lord Commander. How about you, Greyjoy? Would they sway you? You look like you could need retribution."

"Couldn't we all?"

"Oh, most definitely." Viserys smiles at him. "You did your Lord Commander a service here, speaking the truth to me."

With that, like the haunting of a ghost, the surprise visit of Viserys Targaryen is over and the man sauters off as he came, leaving Theon wondering what exactly he does think of him. He remembers their conversation after Jon had seen him for the first time. All the assumptions, all the rumors. He doesn't strike him as a man of Ramsay's kind, nor like his uncle either. But then, Ramsay fooled him too, didn't he?  
But it's been a long time since Theon was treated with respect by a person who'd just met him, by a person who knows what he's like now. And that goes a long way to show what kind of person the Targaryen is. And maybe, Theon thinks, they shouldn't just believe the worst stories about him.

****

Dany's in his room when he comes back. His room. Drogo and Daario still sleep in their own unless he invites them. Originally it was because he couldn't ask those two to live together. But honestly it's a piece of privacy he's not willing to give up. His own sphere. It's what he deserves when he only ever used to have so very little space to himself. His life claimed by other people. Every place to lay his head granted by other people. He needs space that's uniquely his own. He can't wait to have Dragonstone back. A castle that's his by right, when so far, as the ironborn would say, he's only ever paid the iron price for everything he owns. And in all honesty he's going to do so here as well. Fire and blood, he thinks wistfully. It was good enough for Aegon the Conqueror, it should be for him.

"There you are." Dany says. "I wondered where you'd ventured."

"Here and there. I had an interesting conversation with Greyjoy."

She raises an eyebrow in inqiry.

"It answered a few of my questions and left even more." He sits down beside her. "So, here we are." 

"Here we are." she agrees.

"What do you think of Snow?"

"He doesn't really know what he's doing."

Viserys laughs.

"But he's also a like mind." she adds.

"How so?"

"He likes to protect those who can't protect themselves."

"Ah, Dany, you flatter me." He snorts.

"But honestly, you brought Dothraki into these lands. Wildlings shouldn't be such a big step."

"I don't particularly care what the Wildlings do as long as they're not pillaging my lands. I met some outside." he adds.

Her look is wry now. "Who else did you meet?"

He laughs. "I don't think they care too much to accept me as their king. But then, neither do the Crows."

"They'll change their minds."

"Oh yes, they will."

****

"What do you think of Viserys Targaryen?" Jon asks.

"I don't know him well enough to have an opinion." Arya simply says. "I went with him because he's an opportunity. His enemies are ours. That's all I need to know."

"Yes, but what do you think?"

"I think that he can do what neither father nor Robb could do. What you can't do either." There's no malice or derision in her voice. Not really. It's far too devoid of emotion for that. Like a soldier reporting to his commander.

"Because he's like Cersei."

"Because he's hard enough to do what needs doing. Because he lost more than we did and is still here."

"Revenge cannot be our goal here. What good does Cersei's death do if there's someone worse on the throne?"

A cruel smile plays across Arya's lips, making her seem older, making Jon feel younger for all the terrible and impossible things he's seen. "Cersei would be dead." Arya simply replies.

Jon did not think he could feel young again, after holding Castle Black against giants and Wildlings, after seeing things that no one had dared to believe. But now, feeling the stark discrepancy between how he and his sister see the world, that he feels will never close again, he feels old, old in the way Sansa and Theon look. With eyes that are incapable of showing surprise, for nothing bad is unexpected and nothing good is believed. 

And now another sibling is returned to him broken beyond repair. And he's beginning to wonder if he's the one broken, for he does still hope. And no one with hope is still alive. Only those live who at some point wished they were dead. Like Theon, who's not family and at the same time is. 

He remembers how he arrived with Sansa at Castle Black. Nearly frozen. Harassed eyes. How Sansa had clung to him, feral like a beast when Jon had tried to drag him away from her. Remembers his own helplessness when the first days they had just sat there, close to the fire, huddled together. And everytime they had reached for a piece of bread or a bowl of soup placed near them, Jon would see the terrible mess of Theon's hands.  
The third day he'd finally learned in jumbled words how they'd escaped, even though he did not know how they'd survived the travel here, nor how they had eluded Ramsay's men. Sansa's words were halting and sometimes confused. Until she told him that Theon was to be protected. There her voice was firm and imperative. Harsh in a way it was now most of the times, months later when his sister had turned into a cold and regal woman. Harsh like the lands around her and impregnable as the frozen ground.   
She's become more soft towards him again with time. But in the beginning it was only Theon in whose lap she'd rest her head, curled up against him. It was one of those occassions, she asleep and he carding his fingers through her hair, that Theon first spoke to him since his return.

~  
"I'm sorry." he said, looking at him with those hollow ancient eyes that somehow scared him more than the deadly blue of the White Walkers' gaze ever had.

"You should be." Jon replied, voice as hushed as Theon's as not to wake Sansa.

"I did not kill Bran and Rickon."

"I know."

"I loved him."

"Yes, I know."

"I did not–" Theon's voice broke.

"Theon," Jon said. "I thank you for saving my sister. And as long as she wishes it, I'll keep you save. But you're not going to get absolution from me."  
~

He had been wrong though, hadn't he? Theon, who's like a ghost, who speaks in hardly more than a whisper, he's become to him what he'd been to Robb. When Jon did not know where to turn, with Wildlings and Night's Watch inside the castle, both sides out for blood. Ramsay making threats. And then Stannis Baratheon showing up in the midst of it. Sansa and Theon, who'd both looked like they could never be whole again, had healed quicker than anyone could have expected. With Sansa becoming hard as stone and Theon like a willow, bending but not breaking.

Theon had not asked for permission when started training with the Wildlings to learn to shoot again. The Wildlings, who were the least off put by his injuries, showing some of their own scars, inflicted by bears and such, and simply said if you did not want to starve beyond the Wall you learned to shoot with half a hand. Theon did not ask for permission when he shot a Wight, saving Jon's life. He did ask for permission, though, whenever he offered his opinion. Until Jon would ask him for it.

****

In the night, Jon finds his way outside, looking from the balcony down into the courtyard where the the dragon is sleeping. He can't help himself, confronted at such close range with a creature of myths and legends, even though less doubted than the White Walkers.

There's a man out there with him, he notices after a while. A little further away, leaned against an alcove so he's almost impossible to see. It's one of Viserys Targaryen's knights, who Jon mostly noticed because of his strange hair and that disconcerting malevolence that seems to emenate from him.

He notices Jon's gaze and turns around. "Fascinating, right?"

"Yes, Ser–?"

"Darkstar. I am of House Dayne, though, if that was what you were asking."

"I see."

"You do not like my name? My cousin was the Sword of the Morning. But I am of the night."

Jon gives a sharp laugh. "Good for you, Ser. If we're looking forward to another Long Night."

Ghost comes running out of the building. He doesn't got to Jon though, instead runs towards Darkstar. Jon already shouts for his direwolf to back off, but the wolf advances in wide strides, jumping up on the knight. Jon doesn't know who to be more afraid for in this moment. But Ser Dayne doesn't pull his sword and Ghost doesn't go for the man's throat. Instead he sniffs him, curiously, wagging his tail.

The very much somber-to-the-point-of-morose man shows something resembling a smile as he pets the giant dog. "A beautiful animal." he says. "I've never seen a wolf that color."

Jon smiles. "Yes, he's one of a kind."

The dragon stirrs downstairs. A small bout of flame illuminates the night for a moment. And a giant head shows up level with where they are standing. Ghost growls even as Jon tries to shush him. Ser Dayne simply reaches out a hand towards the creature, a darkly amused smile on his face. The dragon gives a growl, it's head moving between the two of them.

"My lords," Viserys' voice strikes through the breathless silence that has settled over the courtyard. "What brings you here at that hour of the night?"

"Your Grace." Ser Dayne turns around, giving a bow, seemingly unbothered by the dragon in his back.

Jon backs away a bit and also turns to look at Viserys, still keeping a tight grip on Ghost's fur. "Lord Targaryen, we were just marvelling at your dragon."

"Yes, they are something to marvel at. I do that too. You should be careful, though. Or you might lose a hand."

****

"We've hadn't had a chance to talk, Lord Targaryen." Jon approaches him the next morning.

"No, we certainly didn't, Lord Snow."

"I'm not a man of politics. I wasn't raised to be. So I'm making this simple. Your dragons are maybe the only chance we have."

"Straight to the point. I will be as well. I want your support, Lord Snow."

"Of what use could I be to you? The Night's Watch has always been neutral."

"Still I want your support. And your sister's. I'm not talking about man power. I want you to stand with me before the other lords of the North."

"The Boltons hold the North. My family has no more power."

"I think we both know that isn't true." Viserys says, smiling slightly. "Old blood. It never loses it's power. "

"If you think I could be of use to you, I would. If you promised to support me with the White Walkers."

"And I said I would. But I'm not fighting with enemies in my back. I'm not leading my men behind the Wall when there's hostiles in front of it. That's the best deal you're going to get."

Jon looks torn.

Viserys speaks again, "You don't like me very much, Lord Snow."

"What makes you think that?"

Viserys shrugs. "I assumed. It's how most people feel."

"I don't know you, Lord Targaryen, frankly."

"You must have formed an opinion. Even a preliminary one."

"I respect Stannis Baratheon, but I've seen him do terrible things, things I couldn't condone." Jon starts. "I've heard mostly terrible things about you. Unflattering ones. But at the same time you freed the slaves, we all know those aren't rumors."

"Maybe you should think less about what you heard and concentrate on what you see." Viserys suggests, faintly amused.

"What did I see?" Jon counters. "You're just another player in this game of thrones. The only thing that makes you different are your dragons. I haven't seen you do better or worse than the others."

"What does your sister say?" Viserys asks, genuinely curious.

"Arya says I should form my own opinion."

****

"Lady Daenerys, welcome to Castle Black." Sansa Stark approaches her, mere minutes after Viserys has left for his meeting with Jon Snow. "Let's sit down and talk a little, while our brothers conduct their business. You must have had great adventures in Essos. I couldn't imagine."

"I have the feeling you can imagine a great deal."

"Oh, no, my lady. I've spent most my life in castles, being bethrothed to one man or another."

"I understand that, Lady Sansa. We are often reduced to currency in this world. But not necessarily, if you'd look at Cersei."

"Would you tell me some stories of your travels? I'm so curious."

"You're not curious, my lady. As one woman to another, I'd think we could speak frankly. You want to learn whether your brother can trust mine. Whether he is more risk than hope."

"I hope you understand." Sansa says, dropping the charade of the excited girl.

"It is only reasonable. But why do you come to me? Why do you think you can trust my words? Because we as women are more inclined to peace and reason?" Daenerys raises an eyebrow.

"Because if word is to be believed, you once before were brave enough to try and kill him when you thought it necessary." Sansa says.

"I wouldn't do it again."

"And that means he's changed, because otherwise you would."

"Maybe I have changed."

"Did you?"

"I did. But you are right, he did too. I'm here because I believe in him. So are 5000 Dothraki and 10000 Unsullied. Does that answer your question, Lady Sansa?"

"Your brother wants revenge. So I assume do you. So do I. I wonder though, on whom."

"You know the answer to that."

"My father was the strongest supporter of Robert Baratheon."

"My brother came here to kill old enemies and to make new friends."

"There aren't many of the old left. Who will your brother kill to staunch his thirst?"

"I see you are thirsty as well, my lady. Who will staunch your thirst?"

"It is true, we share a common enemy. But there are also enemies of mine who could become your allies just the same."

"So you should choose fast, before they make the decision you're stalling. It often falls to a sister to guide her brother's hand."

"What guidance can I give, if I do not know the direction?"

"What could my brother do to you that those around you haven't done already or tried at least?"

"How did you forgive him, Lady Daenerys?"

"He is my brother. He is all I have left in this world."

"And still you tried to kill him."

"Yes."

"Tell me, when he survived the fire, did you, for just a second, consider to just tell your husband to cut his throat?"

"No."

"Because you were too surprised or because it was a sign?"

"Because I had close enough a taste of losing him. And it tasted bitter, like ash. You and your brothers had a different relationship, I can tell. I see you cannot fathom how I could hate him so much and now love him again."

"It is true, my brothers never gave me cause to hate them or to as much as mistrust them. But I do understand you more than you might imagine. My father had a ward, when we were children. Theon Greyjoy. We didn't care for him very much. Except my eldest brother Robb, who loved him dearly. When my father died, Theon stayed with my brother. But later on he betrayed him. He burned down our ancestral home. For some time I thought he'd killed my younger brothers. I hated him. For a long time. But when I arrived at the Dreadfort, for my marriage," her voice turns bitter on the last part. "I was still glad for his presence. For he was the only familiar thing I still knew. He saved me from there. From a man who abused and humiliated me, who calls himself my husband and who I hate and detest more than I thought humanly possibly. From a man who'd hurt him worse than he hurt me. We fled to the Wall. Weeks on weeks on weeks through snow and woods. Both more afraid to be caught again than we were of dying out there. And now he's dearer to me than anyone else in this world."

"So you have the answers to your questions, my lady."

****

They pick the conversation up the next morning as they all sit a breakfast. Or well, Viserys does.

"You have lost your ancestral home. Your position. Your family has lost all it's power except in name." Viserys comments.

Greyjoy freezes. Lady Sansa gasps slightly. Dany dabs her mouth with a handkerchief and gives him a disapproving look.

"My family was betrayed." Jon says darkly, hand on the table clenching. "My father, my brother. They were cowardly killed."

"Yes, everyone does get what's coming for them, after all."

"Are you making light of my family's death?!" Jon asks outraged.

"On the contrary. I was merely pointing out that the same fate as the Targaryens struck the Starks, after your father unhesitatingly joined Robert's rebellion."

"Is that what you truly want?" Jon asks then, somber looking and stern. "Revenge on everyone? Not just the crown?"

"I never made a secret out of the fact that I want revenge and the crown. Tell me honestly, Lord Snow, White Walkers aside, don't you want revenge? Lady Sansa, don't you?"

The young Lady Stark with the dull, cold gaze speaks up. "Oh, I do want revenge."

Jon shakes his head. "Revenge is not for people in our position. Too many lifes depend on us making the right decisions."

"Oh," Viserys states disappointed. "You're dull, Jon. You're dull."

****

"I serve you, my lord. But I report to Lady Arianne." Ser Dayne says.

"Yes, I assumed so." Viserys advances on the man. "You report to me or you go back where you came from, by whatever means you seem fit. Maybe you can find a ship, maybe you won't even get sunk or raided by the Greyjoys." The man looks at him unimpressed. "You know, Oberyn told me about you."

"I doubt that."

"Oh, you do? Why's that?"

"The Red Viper has nothing to say about me because he doesn't know me."

"What exactly is it, he took such offense in?"

Ser Dayne shrugs. "I like to kill, I'm good at it. And I don't bother hiding either one or the other."

"Neither should you. I doubt, though, that Oberyn would take offense on that matter. What would you say is to know about you?"

"You know my name, you know my allegiance. There's nothing more you need to know."

"Yes, I wish I knew your allegiance. But I'm not sure I do. See, far be it from me to have secrets from my lady wife. But I won't have you smuggle messages via unsafe ways that may contain information detrimental to me. So that stops."

"Very well, your Grace."

"We don't know each other well, Ser Dayne. But believe me, all the stories Oberyn has told Arianne about me, are true. So unless you want to spent the rest of the war in a cell until I ship you back to Dorne, you do as I tell. And should I find pertinent information has already found it's way into the Lannister's hands, what I will send back to Arianne will fit into a box."

****

"Gods, marriage is hard." Viserys groans. "I mean, who sends his ex-lover with his husband?"

"Who sleeps with his sister's husband while she's in a coma?" Dany asks pleasantly.

"Really? Still?"

"By the way, I like him. He's certainly great in bed."

"He– Seriously? What about Khal Moro?"

"What about him?" she raises a dainty eyebrow. "I'm only just divorced from Drogo. I'm not thinking about remarrying yet, or at all. We'll see how it goes. I'm enjoying myself, as I recall you doing for many years. Is there a problem with that?" Her voice gets a threatening edge, perfectly pleasant still. Like a Targaryen should be.

"No. No! Of course not." he's quick to appease her. "Do whatever or whoever takes your fancy. I just have one question. Does he ever smile?"

She gives him a cooly confident smile, leaning back in her chair. "He sure does."

****

Viserys regards the long rows of black-clad men sitting below him. The high table is empty of Crows, aside from Jon, to make room for Viserys and his entourage, well, and aside from Greyjoy and Lady Stark. 

His eyes stray to a table a little below where, to his surprise, a woman with a little child sits, together with a fat young man and three other unremarkable Crows. They don't hold their rules that high then, no matter how Jon tries to convince him of that. A hypocrite just like his father.

The hall is silent. Not fully silent, but more silent than a hall full of men should be. Has been every day now. Viserys doesn't know what it's like during the other meals, when he only takes dinner here in the great hall. But it's evident. Everyone's uneasy, even though the Dothraki don't even eat in the hall, preferring to stay outside with the Wildlings. But, sure, Viserys can understand their unease, with Unsullied and Dothraki inside Castle Black, even if he brought considerably few. And of course the dragon in the courtyard. He doubts though that Stannis Baratheon would have been received as hostilely as him.

The Wall is full of thieves, orphans and outcasts, these days. They should be only too happy to serve a beggar king. And the whole Wildling topic is something that completely evades him. An unnecessary complication where he needs none.

And the man in question, who sits to his left side, where Dany sits to his right, he evades him too, in more than one way. Very much a man of honor, outwardly, very Stark. A bastard, risen through the ranks by his own achievements, which Viserys can respect. Grown up more entitled than Viserys, and if that isn't laughable. But he's smart, if maybe quaint. He's not cowering. Not before him, not before Stannis either. Viserys has only ever met men who feared him or who ridiculed him. Jon does neither. Which makes him smarter and more dangerous than all of the aforementioned men. But Jon is no one to fear for Viserys, not in the sense Stannis is. Even if Jon rallied all his Crows and Wildlings too, they wouldn't add up to a number to be any match for Viserys' army. If he were to fear anything at all about Jon –And he doesn't, wary if at all– it would be his name. And that too is all to ironic. But the only true power Jon has to raise against him is the favor of the Northern lords. And that certainly is a power only a fool would disregard. How good of Ned to send his bastard son to the Wall. Otherwise the lords of the North would maybe now have an actual lord to rally behind. And Viserys' case would be an a whole lot more difficult one to make. And the young, red-haired lady, who knows? He has a vague guess of what she's been through. It could have left her broken, but from what he's seen of her there's still fire in her. And if she's anything like her sister, she's no one to be overlooked lightly.

****

"You like her, don't you?" Viserys says, brushing Vengeance's snout. "She likes you too. Let's speak frank, Jon. How do you feel in all this? You valiently go to the Wall, and then your family gets slaughtered. I know the feeling."

"I know you do. I'd like to think my father did less to warrant it.

"Do you now?" Viserys doesn't get loud, keeps stroking Vengeance. "Did your valiant father tell his friends to stop the slaughter in the Red Keep?"

"No." Jon says earnestly. "But it wasn't you who killed him."

"Sadly no."

"And my brother had done nothing to deserve his death."

"Oh, he did." A smirk lights up Viserys' face. "He was winning. Nothing but that to make people want to be your friend or want to kill you."

"That is certainly true."

"You, Lord Snow, are, like many, one of the parties who got dragged into this war without their own choosing. I'll take the responsibility gladly. And you won't have to question any longer what's the right decision to make."

"But I do. I do worry. About you, my lord."

"I see a lot of myself in Arya." Viserys says apropos nothing. "In Sansa too. I cannot believe that you should really feel so different. That revenge really means that little to you. You're not that good. Neither was Ned. However much he acted like it."

"I never claimed to be good. I just try to act with care about the power given to me by others."

"Who's too careful never makes a decision, Jon. And loses. No one likes the one who stays neutral. Hiding behind your Wall won't do you any good. From either side."

"I'm starting to see that."

****

"How long are we going to stay here?" Drogo asks.

"Don't you like it?" Viserys quips. "Baths. Beds. Buildings. All good things starting with a 'B'. Blowjobs for that matter." He shrugs with a smirk. "Not like anyone has any energy left for that out in the cold. Except Daario of course. But let's face it, he's not from this world."

Drogo snorts, not refuting that either. No matter how it smarts his pride, eye infection aside, the mercenary's dealing with the cold even better than the Unsullied. "I meant," he continues. "How long are you going to let Snow stall? He's not going to make a decison. Maybe he's already allied with Stannis in secret."

"Give it time, Drogo. Gods above, we've been here not even a week. I can only barely feel my toes again. Grey Worm is doing fine without us. As is Khal Moro, for what I hear." He's not trying to be an asshole. He really isn't. Maybe a little.

Drogo harrumphs indignatedly. Which really isn't a good look on him and makes Viserys laugh for real now.

»Little shit« Drogo growls, no real heat behind it. Like there's any real heat behind anything in this cold shithole. Except his dragons of course.

»Really, darling?« Viserys teases. »You used to call me so much more imaginative names. I fear your feelings for me are cooling down. Not that anyone could blame you in this place.«

Drogo laughs.

»Gods know you don't mind sleeping in tents. But honestly, don't you appreciate the fact that its not actually freezing in here at least a bit?«

»More than you can imagine.«

»So let's give Snow another chance, huh?«

»We can take the North without him.« 

»I know. But I don't intend to spend one second longer in this place than I have to. Nor am I going to waste the lifes of my men for no good reason. Not even the Dothraki.« He smirks at Drogo.

Drogo mumbles something that even after years of speaking the tongue, Viserys doesn't understand, and shakes his head fondly. Could have been something relating to idiot but Viserys really didn't catch the verb stem.

****

"So, Jon," Viserys starts. Jon is no longer taken aback by the familiarity with which the Targaryen's taken to address him. "What's the deal with the Wildlings, Stannis and you? That was Mance Ryder burning on the pire that day we met, wasn't it?"

"Do you have actually any idea what's going on here?!" Jon asks exasperated.

"Honestly, no. Why do you think Robert never succeeded at having me killed? Intel isn't as fresh once it's crossed the Narrow Sea as it was when it was sent." Viserys shrugs. "But what's it matter? I'm here now, and I'm sure you're only too happy to fill me in."

"I'd have assumed the Spider would have already done that."

"Yes, you'd think so, but alas, he hasn't."

"Stannis refuses to accept the Wildlings in Westeros, unless they bend the knee to him, which they'll never do. But if they stay beyond the Wall, they'll die."

"And you want to save them?" There's a patronizing humoring in Viserys' voice that annoys Jon, when he thought he'd gotten used to navigating his dealings with difficult people.

"Yes! And what's wrong with that?! I'm only fullfilling my oath! I'm protecting mankind from the White Walkers."

"And you expect me to allow the Wildlings to come here and live in my kingdom without bending the knee?"

"No. I expect you'll be as stubborn as Stannis." Jon returns darkly.

Viserys snorts. "Now, I can't ask our dear Northern lords to bend the knee if I have an entourage of savages that do whatever they want. Nevermind the entourage of savages I already have." He winks at Jon. "But- Jon, now don't frown. I have a proposition for you. So you see I'm not as narrow-minded as Stannis. I have mercenaries in my army. The Wildlings can fight for me as well. Paid sellswords. I have no problem with that. And once the war is over, once the White Walkers are defeated, they can accept me as their king or they can fuck off beyond the Wall again and return to their life in the frozen desert if they wish so. Is that not more than reasonable an offer?"

Jon nods solemnly. "It is."

"Will you support my claim, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch?"

"What about the White Walkers?

"Jon, slow down." Viserys smiles. "All in good time."

"They won't wait for you." Jon says insistently. "They won't wait for anyone in Westeros. They will be here. And when they are we better all pray that we have something to put in their way. Winter is already here. They will follow shortly after."

"I'm not scared of winter." Viserys replies.

"Your highness, have you ever seen a winter in the North?"

****

"Lady Sansa, I would also talk to you." Viserys says. "I assume your brother has informed you about our conversation and it's outcome."

"He has, my lord. So did your sister I'd imagine."

"You are right, my lady. Your brother doesn't wish to give me a clear answer yet."

"So you wish me to convince him."

"No, Lady Stark. I wish to garner your support."

"Mine?"

"You are the rightful head of House Stark, are you not?" He raises an eyebrow, smiling.

"Maybe in name." she replies darkly.

"If you'd let me, I could make it not just in name."

"Why?"

"I told your brother. Old blood. I wish the true warden of the North to back me up. Someone people will follow."

"And you think that's me?"

"You are, my lady. Either way. By blood. Just as I'm to sit on the Iron Throne."

"My husband..."

"Let your husband be my concern. I'm going to kill Stannis, I'm not scared of the bastard to an obscure house of the North."

He sees the happy smile that shows on her face for a moment. Then, "You should be."

"So I've been told. If word is to be believed they are the Targaryens of the North, based on inclination."

"Does this amuse you, Lord Targaryen?" Sansa asks coldly.

He meets her eyes, face solemn. "Your pain, my lady? No, it doesn't."

****

Jon looks at his sister. "You want me to support him."

"I'm not asking you to do it. But I am." Sansa replies matter-of-factly.

"You trust him?"

"I trust that he needs me. I trust that he can do what I need." One pale, fine-fingered hand digs into Jon's arm. "And I do need it. You know that."

****

"You were a hostage with the Starks, were you not?"

Theon had not expected the Dornish knight in the Targaryen entourage to talk to him. The man with the perpetual scowl who always seems a bit aloof.

"I was." Theon simply replies.

"It could not have been easy, growing up."

"It wasn't."

"And still you decided to follow Robb Stark. When Ned Stark killed your brothers and ripped you from your family home."

"Robb Stark was my friend." Theon replies harshly, feeling pain well up in his throat. "He was my family. And it was him I owed allegiance to, not my father. Even if I realised it too late."

That seems to bring Ser Dayne up short. "Why? Why would you owe loyalty to anyone but first and foremost to your own blood?"

"Because sometimes your blood doesn't deserve your loyalty. I have a sister I love, even if we barely know each other. She did right by me. More than I deserved. But my father, he did not care for me and still expected me to fall to command. If you have a family who deserves your love, you are lucky."

"I have a mother. And she certainly deserves my devotion."

"I did not take you for a man who values family ties that highly."

"What did you take me for then?"

"A man who's out to make himself a name."

"I already have a name."

****

Theon's sitting in the kitchen, abandoned at this hour, when Jon sees him again. Scarred hands forcefully enclose a cup of ale or something stronger. He speaks without lifting his head, because he knows it's him. Theon can tell people apart by the sound of their steps. Listens to such things. Jon's learned that by now.

"He asked me why I betrayed my family." Theon says harshly. 

"Who?"

"Ser Dayne, the Dornish knight." Theon let's out an exasperated huff, a sick little laugh. "He is the first one who understands why I betrayed Robb, and thinks it was the right decision. And still I got so angry." He shakes his head helplessly.

Jon is at a bit of a loss for words. "You loved Robb." he then simply says. He's been privy to Theon's continued heartache over his brother, knows that Theon misses him more than every piece of flesh he's been bereft of.

"I did." Theon chokes out. He covers his face for a moment with one marred hand, then runs it through his hair in irritation. The hair, silver and copper. It reminds Jon of Ygritte, the red. More so than Tormund ever has. Maybe because Theon's an archer too. "I had to explain to him why I chose wrong." Theon continues anguished and still with an incredulous laugh.

Jon's always known those two were together. Ran in on them a couple of times. Theon, with his ridiculously outgoing and uninhibited sexual nature, with more confidence than Jon ever could dream to have. It's crazy how they've changed, when he remembers the three of them going swimming, and Theon shamelessly making out with Robb. Robb throwing apologetic glances at Jon but going along anyway. And himself stewing in the water, envious when he hadn't as much as kissed anyone yet.   
They'd been so fucking happy, sheltered and innocent. Theon, with his constant grin and boisterous nature, maybe the least of them. With his dead brothers, living far away from his family. And now, knowing how he hates the Lannisters and Ramsay, Jon thinks, how must Theon have hated them? He thinks how much strength it must have cost to stay for Robb's sake. And who on earth is he to judge Theon for turning against them?  
And now, Robb is dead, Theon is a broken shadow. And Jon, Jon is faced with decisions no one prepared him for. And Theon and his little sister who dreamed of a romantic wedding, are the ones he looks to these days to help him make these decisions.   
And through all of it there's a Targaryen prince and his dragons, who promises him retribution and justice. Who promises to do what Jon can't do himself any longer. It's too good to be true, and the Targaryen is a double-edged sword. Fire where the White Walkers are ice. And Jon at the Wall isn't sure he can contain either. It's an insane world they live in.  
"I'm sure Robb knew you loved him." Jon says then. He's not so sure at all. After all it was Robb's shock-addled decision over Theon's betrayal that brought about his death. But that's nothing he could tell Theon any longer. He did, once upon a time, months ago, when he didn't know what to do with the helpless bitterness and it felt so unfair that Theon was allowed to get away with what he'd done. Only Theon hadn't. It seemed silly now that he'd considered it that. Theon lived, but not much more than that. And if ever Jon mentioned again how Theon had unwittingly caused the happenings of the Red Wedding, he thought it would shatter the other.

Theon's laugh is slightly hysteric, his voice rough and bitter. "No, he didn't. How could he have understood why I did what I did?"

Theon is so desperate for his absolution, of all people. Maybe because aside from him, Jon's the one who knew Robb best. He looks at him with such hope in his eyes. Like one word out of Jon's mouth could undo it all and make it right.

Jon gives the only absolution he can. The one he never ever thought he'd give. "I had a girl I loved." he starts. "I'd promised her my loyalty. And I lied when I did it. And she died through the people I chose over her. Because I considered it my duty. I regretted my choice. But I don't know how I could have decided differently. I lied to her from the beginning. But I loved her. What I did was worse than what you did." He gives a sad ghost of a laugh. Maybe it's absolution for him too. Because this is a sin he's never even stopped to consider. But it's been there, all this time.

Theon draws in a choked breath, staring at Jon wide-eyed. "Thank you."

"Nothing to thank me for." Jon says with a sad smile for so much gratitude that he doesn't think he deserves. And somehow he can't stop talking now. "She's in the ground. For a while now already. With her bow. She was an archer like you. Red-headed too. She always made me feel stupid. If I'd done what I truly wanted to do I'd have married her. But I didn't. Because of my oath. Just as I didn't help Robb or my father. Because of my oath."

"Sometimes there are only wrong choices."

Jon nods bitterly. "All too often. I'm trying so hard, so hard to do right by everyone. And they hate me for it. But sometimes people get hurt and there's no wrong party, even though there are so many people wronged. I can only lose. And now I have to decide again. And I feel there's not even a true choice to make. I should endorse him, or the North will bleed out even further when he takes it by force. But when everything is burning, maybe I'll regret not having done everything to stop him. What would you do?"

Theon is no longer surprised when Jon asks him for his opinion, it's been happening too often by now. "Sansa believes in him. We don't have time to build up trust. It's a time for tentative alliances. He is different. I think he has the potential to be better or worse. But one thing's for sure, if you don't back him up he will turn to Ramsay."

****

Arya looks at Ser Dayne. "You look and look. What is it you're looking at?"

"Maybe I think your lady sister is very beautiful."

"That's not what you think. I've seen that look on the face of a woman I once knew. She looked like that when she contemplated doing what she did best. I cut her face off."

Gerold seems unaffronted.

"I heard you were there when your father died," he then says. "Do you think he realised, in that moment, that no miracle was going to save him?"

"I have quite a list full of names, Ser. But there's always room for more."

"Yes." He smiles. "On mine as well."

"No problem with killing a girl?" she says more approving than accusing.

"A girl, a boy. Man, woman, child. What does it matter?"

"Valar morghulis."

"Wrong." Gerold says. "Everyone must die. There are no exceptions, for beauty, virtue or innocence. Especially not for those. Look at the world and you'll know for whom there are exceptions." He smirks. "Until one day there aren't even for those. Fate catches up with everyone. And sometimes you have to give it a little push."

"It is what I do for a living."

"Murder and whoring, the oldest and most honest professions in the world."

"You are a strange man, Ser."

"You think you learned your lesson young, my lady. But I was born with mine."

****

"Are you willing to see them now?" Jon asks.

"The White Walkers? How long will it take?"

"Not long. They are close now."

"Very well, then."

"Alright. Then follow me beyond the Wall."

****

"I would come with you, your Grace." Ser Dayne says.

"Indeed. Why's that?" Viserys asks indulgently.

Ser Dayne smiles. "Did you never want to see things that aren't supposed to exist?"

"Oh, yes. I see your point."

It's maybe ridiculous, because Arianne would be an idiot to harm him and rid herself of the crown, but he feels uneasy around Ser Dayne. Maybe because of Oberyn's warning, even though he did not heed it at the time. And it's not like he has a general problem with a dark disposition, he used to have one for many years himself. It's not even that he has the feeling Ser Dayne has any particular ill-will against him. He doesn't strike him as particularly jealous. Except maybe on another man's prowess with the sword, but there Viserys is truly no competition.  
Maybe it's that he doesn't like to surround himself with dangerous people who aren't one-hundred percent sworn to him. And that after all, is only sensible. 

Actually, that complete lack of jealousy is in itself suspicious. It makes him wonder. And of course he has to prod.

"Tell me, Ser Dayne." Viserys starts conversationally. "It must be strange for you to serve me. With your little tryst with my queen over now."

"No, My Lord." Ser Dayne replies with his general lack of cadence.

"No?" Viserys asks, willfully obtuse. "The tryst is not over?"

Darkstar actually grimaces at that and Viserys congratulates himself on having managed to make the other feel uncomfortable, forcing him to actually show some emotion other than moroseness. "No, Your Grace, my ties to the queen were of solely professional nature long before your marriage."

"You do not seem particularly dissappointed by that."

"How could I dream to be anything for such a lady than a temporary distraction?" Darkstar replies straight-faced.

Oh. Oh, he's good. Viserys is impressed. He'd considered the man, if certainly not dim-witted, though not particularly quick-witted.

****

"Actually, there's no reason for such a large procession. I just can go and see for myself." Viserys states. "We'll soon know whether you've been telling the truth, Lord Commander."

 

"I'm coming with you," Dany says, already in her long coat, striding towards the dragon.

"No."

"Yes." she reiterates.

"If anything happens to me –And let's not kid ourselves, it could– You need to finish what we've started and sit on the Iron Throne."

"Nothing's going to happen." She shakes her head, irritated.

"You know I'm right. Either one of us. It has to be."

She purses her lips, frowns, but then gives him a quick hug, looking anything but happy. But she steps back as he mounts Vengeance.

"See you in a bit, little sister."

****

Viserys rides on Vengeance and sees the thousands of white, emanciated bodies. Some born on rotting horses, some afoot. Among them the living dead. The rotten corpses of those who have fallen.

It's earie and beautiful in a way. Deeply terrifying as something is that should not be possible. But as a man who raised dragons and walks through fire, as a man who's murdered things before, that had lived for centuries, who's seen creatures created by men and magic and learned them to be as human as himself, as someone who's been looked at with the same disbelieving terror of something that's too gruesome to be real, the moment of gripping fear is only fleeting. Then he wonders who the Night King is. What he wants. And how to defeat him. Marvels at the fact that seemingly everything believed dead or legend is in fact real and alive.

****

"I will help you with them, Lord Snow. But only if you will help me with the North."

"I told you I would, but as long as Stannis–"

"I'll handle Stannis. What comes after that is the hard part. Does that fit your timetable, Lord Snow?"

"If we're quick."

"Then we better be quick."


	3. The Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As all things, wars end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I could finally tear myself away from the Vikings Fandom long enough to post this.^^

Stannis is not waiting for Viserys to finish his visit, the battle continues. Without him. Daario leaves the castle to return to the Second Sons.

By the time Viserys returns, Grey Worm's just dealt Stannis a crippling defeat, and it looks just as if this war might end anytime soon. Of course it doesn't.

****

Viserys Targaryen has returned to his war against Stannis. All Jon can do is watch and wait until the war is over and he will have to make good on his word.

His fellow brothers of the Night's Watch don't exactly question his judgment. They seem to have a lot less of a problem with Viserys Targaryen than they have with the Wildlings, probably because they don't yet know Viserys' stance on the Wildling situation. But they are wary. They're all wary. Jon is too. They're caught in the middle of a situation no one wants to be caught in. Yet again.

****

"That's not the decision I expected you to make." Stannis says, gravely, disappointed. And it hurts, that disappointment. Despite that it shouldn't.

"I had a choice to make." Jon says. 

"And I will remember your choice. Once this war is over."

"I wouldn't expect any different, my lord. We are leaders of our people to make decisions for them, and to bear the consequences of those."

****

Drogo stands tall before Ser Dayne. "Viserys doesn't trust you."

"Why?" The man smiles in a way that's detestable to Drogo. "His Grace has no reason to doubt my loyalty."

"I don't care about that. But know that it will be me you'll answer to if you go against him."

"I'll go against you anytime you want, Dothraki." the other replies, a hungry glint in his eyes, like the blood is already dripping from his sword.

****

The first thing Viserys does when he returns to camp, is look for Justice. She's gotten stronger, but she's still weak and tired. Much like he was a month ago.

She greets him with a happy keening, and he feels terrible for having left her alone for so long.

He rubs his cheek against her scaly snout. "I'd never leave you, my baby. My little lizard baby. I'll look out for you. I'll always be there for you. You don't have to be scared." He kisses one of her giant nostrils. "I love you so much."

Warm air brushes his face, hot enough to scald anyone but him or Dany and Rhaego. A warm tongue laps over his hand resting on the giant creature's snout. 

Justice used to sleep with him since she got sick, or more precisely he with her, it's not like she could fit into a tent. He does so again, now that they've returned. 

They're both outside, her wrapped into many tarpaulins, he curled against her side.

He feels it before he sees it. An ache in his bones, furry driness on his tongue, like a draft going through a room even though they're out in the open. 

The Undying, he thinks.

"Have you come to me? Have you come to kill me?" Viserys asks, eyes gazing into the darkness of the night, the sky heavy with clouds that swallow up what little light moon and stars would have provided, only the torches, far away at the edges of the camp, throw a bit of flickering light into the tar-like foggy darkness. Just enough light for Viserys to see a creature emerge, the night sticking to it like molasses. 

It has no face, no real contures to distinguish it from the night. A shadow creature, Viserys thinks. Like the one that killed Renly Baratheon. A man who kills his own brother. There's anger inside him, now, and disgust. The witch then, not the Undying. Stannis was never one to fight fair, to fight with honor. Not that those concepts ever held much meaning to Viserys himself. And still, within an instant he's angry. He's so fucking angry. "Come closer and show me what kind of power you have to raise against me!" he tells it, feeling rage burn through his veins that makes him shake, almost, with it. How dare she send her foul magic near his dragons again?! Near his Justice who she already hurt enough. "You've done enough, you bitch! Enough!"

Suddenly Justice rears her head, spitting fire.

And it sears through the shadow demon, engulfing him. And Viserys hears a high-pitched scream, unnatural and still so very much human, as the creature dissolves inside the flames.

After that, the night is calm again, other than for the still gently smoldering nostrils of Justice. Only for a moment, though, then commotion starts inside the tents, and soon Viserys knows, soon the night will be lit up with torches and he'll have questions to answer, questions he isn't even sure he as an answer to, not yet.

****

He gets those answers three days later when they meet up for a parlay with Stannis. The face of his priestess is covered with burn-scars.

Yes, Viserys thinks, this war will end. Soon enough. And then he'll come for Cersei, and maybe even see the sun again.

****

The absence of the Targaryens is pallpable in the Great Hall. More noise again. Jon wouldn't call it more lively, for there's little life in it, discontent brewing. Hasn't it been for weeks, now? His men know what he wants to do with the Wildlings. It had been cut short by Stannis' arrival and they'd started hoping again. But now, with his official siding with Viserys, they all know what it means.

"The Night's Watch's always been neutral, Lord Commander." Bowen Marsh speaks up, standing at his table. And the hall falls expectantly silent.

"Brothers, I know that better than most of you." Jon speak up. "Have I not stayed here with you when my family was slaughtered?" There's muttered assent and a few shouts of 'only barely'. "There will be no neutrality this winter, brothers. There are only the living and the dead. We, brothers, we know that better than any Baratheon king or any Targaryen king! You gave me your trust and I chose, so we may all live. Or at least as many of us as possible."

"So the Wildlings may live!" a vicous voice shouts through the hall.

Jon schools his expression, becoming hard and regal, Lord Commander not friend or comrade. "I sided with Lord Targaryen because he has dragons and an army larger than anything we've seen so far. Because for what it looks like he's going to win. I made that choice for all of us."

****

"What's all this ruckus?" Viserys asks as he walks through camp.

"There's a fight between one of the Unsullied and a Dothraki, Your Grace." one of the Second Sons tells him.

That's rather unusual. The Unsullied usually neither pick fights nor get dragged into them.

He recognizes the Dothraki, mainly because he's noticed him before, because of his looks. One of Moro's people. Qoho, or something (In all honesty most of the Dothraki names sound much the same to him). The Unsullied is unknown to him. As tall as the Dothraki, which is also unusual, otherwise he has the typical close-cropped hair of the Unsullied. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back, face impassive, when he sees Viserys. The other follows suit, a moment later.

"What is this?" Viserys demands. =What's going on here?=»What the fuck happend?«

Silence.

"No? Nothing? No one wants to tell me what this is about? Getting not enough of a fight against Stannis' people?"

The Dothraki laughs.

"If the Westerosi are so easy to defeat, you should have won by now." Viserys shoots back, voice barbed and without humor.

The man falls silent.

"So, what hissy fit brought this on?" Viserys asks again.

"He called me not a man." The Unsullied says, now, looking murderous yet earily contained as the Unsullied always are.

"He claims to be Dothraki!" Qoho says, spitting on the floor.

Viserys curls his mouth in disgust. "Unless you're spitting out my come, there's no spitting around me."

"I am Dothraki." The Unsullied says, eyes burning with fire. "I was born Shierak, son of Zoro bloodrider to Khal Tolorro."

"You have no hair. You have no dick–" Qoho starts.

"Shut up!" Viserys hisses. 

Qoho falls silent but then says sullenly. »You have always favored the Unsullied. When it were the Dothraki who got you your first city.«

»Yes. The Dothraki. Not your clan, though. So far you have done nothing but annoy me beyond reason. The next heir to the throne after me will be Dothraki. And you feel I don't honor you enough?« "You will honor the Unsullied, for I don't see them insulting you." He looks angrily between the two men who still seem high-strung and ready to go at each other again. "But I see you are both beyond reason. So why don't you have it out? Right here, just this once."

The Dothraki smirks and the Unsullied too seems pleased.

"No weapons." Viserys adds.

He watches as they pounce on each other, hard blows traded without hesitation.

The Unsullied prevails. And Viserys watches as he cuts off Qoho's hair, thinking: Yes, without a doubt, this man is Dothraki.

"Be grateful that's all he cut off." Viserys says lightly.

 

"I'm not sure that was smart." Varys says, as Viserys walks away from the scene. "Even though I appreciate what you did there."

"The Dothraki respect strength."

****

During another clash between the armies of Stannis and the returned Targaryen, an attack of Whights on Castle Black takes place. Wights are not out of the ordinary, these days, not for the people at the wall, not anymore. But not so many. And never with so much fervor. They always were vicious, but directionless. Not today.

They are climbing up the walls. Rows after rows. Throwing down fire and stones this time doesn't seem to stop them.

"Where is Viserys?!" Theon asks, lowering his bow with which he's, until now, fired arrow after arrow laced with fire unto the undead.

"On the battleside, I'd assume!" Jon yells over the noise of the bustle of their defense and the screeching of the wights.

Theon points at the large dragon, who wasn't there earlier. It illustrates how deep in shit they are, right now, that they could have missed a giant dragon landing on the battlements. But there it sits. No rider on it. Viserys nowhere in sight. That's what they need, a rogue dragon killing them all, when the wights are already doing such a great job of it. 

It doesn't seem to intend to eat them, though. Just sits there looking. Unimpressed by the battle around it. And why would it be, when none of them can harm it?

"Send for Viserys!" Theon says. "He needs to make good on his word. If he wants your help, you should still be alive."

"Go find Lord Targaryen!" Jon shouts to one of his Crows. "Tell him there's an emergency with his dragon!"

But it's taking too long. Or maybe it isn't. He doesn't have a really good feeling for time any longer. All he knows is, that the situation is turning more and more dire with every second.

That's what tips the decision. Or maybe the fact that he's been in so many life-threatening, terrifying situations by now. But still, the dragons scare him. Who wouldn't they scare, with their huge, scale-covered bodies and giant mouths full of teeth? Creatures from a different time, from nightmares. Who wouldn't be scared of them? Except of course Viserys Targaryen himself, who treats them like beloved pets, like Jon treats his direwolf.

But still, Jon's been in enough life and death situations to know when a decision needs to be made, no matter how crazy. So he steps up to the giant and deadly creature. It huffs and puffs, seemingly irritated or maybe surprised by his approach. Or maybe amused, who knows their emotions, the growling and howling Viserys seems to understand or at least pretends to convincingly?

Jon takes off his glove and stretches out his shaking hand. Which seems a foolish move, as this is not a dog which needs to get accostumed to his smell. It didn't bite Dayne he tells himself to calm his nerves. Maybe they are tamer than expected. He nearly pulls it back (more precisely he nearly runs), when the giant's head moves closer and the jaws open to release a large puff of air. It seems to smell him after all.

"Please," he says then, wondering what language these beasts even speak. But he thinks he heard Viserys talk to them like you would to people. "Please. Help us." He points to the Wall, where the wights are climbing higher and higher. "It would help Viserys too," he continues. "If they get over the wall, they will attack Viserys from behind and he won't see them coming. Please!" he urges again. "Please, help me!"

Theon stands a few feet away, bow tentatively lowered, as if a bow could do any damage to such a beast. Still he seems to want to train it on the dragon, just to do something. He doesn't run. Knowing he's there is maybe the only thing that stops Jon from running himself. He thinks of Theon's fingers. Imagines himself with his arm torn off, bile rising up in his throat. He does not understand how Viserys manages to get close to them. To run his fingers over their mouths, touch those teeth. When they could tear him into pieces. Jon's scared of him in that moment. A man who doesn't fear those creatures, he seems not human. Maybe the Targaryens never were. What kind of people could be, who command these beasts?

Jon only sees Theon from the corners of his eyes, doesn't dare to turn away to look at him, doesn't dare to break eye-contact with the dragon. He's surprised enough he's still holding the creature's attention. But it's looking at him, it's still looking at him, deep, smoky breaths going in and out of it's mouth, the head moving slightly back and forth, staring at Jon with unfathomable golden eyes that look far from mindless.

Then it suddenly takes flight. A few beatings of its wings that rip everyone in the vincinity, including Jon and Theon, off their feet. And then it soars into the sky. Jon picks himself off the floor, staring after the dragon. But it doesn't fly far, not in the direction of the battlefield and its master either. It does a half-turn and stops in front of the wall, standing half-upright in the air. And then the first burst of flames comes and Jon throws himself and Theon to the ground again. The wights fall off the wall in burning tatters, dissolving to ash before they've even hit the ground. The centuries-old layer of ice that covers the wall melts, laying bare the stone underneath. The dragon repeats it a few more times, turns and sends jets of flames over the approaching hoards of wights as well. Then it takes a few more turns flying around the castle and settles back where it was before.

Jon looks at it again, her (Viserys always referred to them as female, didn't he?), in new understanding. In the understanding that they are no more monsters than Viserys Targaryen. That they choose to follow him. That their violence and destruction is a choice. And not Viserys' but theirs. That this... creature... as much a last dragon as Viserys is, chose to save him. That she understands him as she sits there and looks at him. It's a noble creature. And a surprisingly kind one.

"Thank you." Jon says, trying to keep his voice strong.

The dragon's chest gives a deep rumble. She pushes Jon over with her snout, and then takes flight again.

****

"Justice did what?" Viserys asks disbelievingly.

"I didn't mean to overstep," Jon assures, out of his depth. "It was an emergency. I tried to contact you."

The returned Targaryen king, about whom Jon still isn't sure how to feel, looks at him with narrowed eyes, clicking his tongue. "No, no. If my dragon decided to help you, that's her business. But you, Lord Snow, you surprise me."

****

He didn't expect Ser Dayne to pick up their conversation about Oberyn, again. They're at the battlefield, the fight is over for today, and Dayne stands there, dripping with blood like he took a fucking bath in it.

"He once told me he knew a man like me." Gerold Dayne says. "Who takes not pleasure in skill but in the killing itself. But I am no Mountain, nor do the Viper's poisons kill any prettier than my sword. He praises his daughters for the same skill he seems to despise in me."

"Maybe the problem is that unlike him you lack charm." Viserys comments.

"Because I am not false and cover my blade in smiles?"

****

"Stannis sends a message." Tyrion informs him.

"About what?"

Tyrion gives a lopsided smile. "Peace negotiations."

"Now he wants peace? After he tried to kill me in every way he could think of. No. I've had enough of him and his witch."

****

He didn't believe Varys when he heard it. When he should have really learned that there is no limit to people's perversity and power-hunger. He had not believed him. So that wasn't the reason why he's come. It was simply a surprise attack to diminish the last of Stannis' troops.

That's when he sees it. The little girl on the pire. A pire like the one he saw when he first came here. The flames are already blazing high enough to have caught the seam of her dress and she's screaming. He can't even make out what she's screaming. Doesn't realize either that he's given his dragon the command to land, only he's on the ground now. Does only for a second think of Tyrion's words 'Any archer with a longbow could take you out, your grace'. And he runs up onto the pire, through the flames. And he sees her disbelieving gaze as she beholds him, sees desperate, clawing hope flicker up on her face. He cuts through the ropes holding her, wraps his cloak around her and carries her off the pire.

He doesn't actually notice much more of the battle. Is aware that there are Unsullied circling him and the girl, while he's covering her in the cloak to extinguish the flames.

The day is his, without a doubt. Not just the day. The entire war. For today at, least. As far as it concerns this depressing piece of frozen dirt he now owns. It's enough, it is a start. If only today hadn't been quite as ugly as it turned out, maybe he could enjoy it more.

Then suddenly there's the red priestess in midst of all that carnage. Surrounded by death. 

The priestess looks like a sleepwalker, uncaring of the enemy soldiers that might strike her down any minute. She regards Viserys through the chain of Unsullied that surrounds him. Looks at him, then looks at the coincidentally seven people burning like torches just beside them, set ablaze by Vengeance who's still circling above them. She looks at him again and at the burned remnants of his clothes, at the pire that's burning high to the sky by now. Her eyes find his again, wide and ablaze with something terrifying. "It's a sign." she says in marvel, as if talking to herself. "I've been reading it all wrong. You've been sent. You've been sent by the Lord of Light."

"What? No!" He replies automatically, still clutching the girl.

She looks around herself again, with the same rapt expression, at all the corpses strewn across the charred earth, cut down by sword or fire, then falls to her knees in front of him. "It's a giant offering to the Lord of Light. I didn't see it. I've been blind. You are the king that's been prophecied. Let me serve you!"

"No! You nearly killed on of my dragons, you crazy bitch." He tells her heartfeltly. 

She doesn't seem to mind, praying feverently to herself, looking happy in a way no one should on this giant graveside, not even Viserys himself who's just claimed his first victory, who just removed the first stone from this game. The House Baratheon gone. The horse removed from the game. Now only the queen remains to oppose his king. And a few pawns who could move in either direction. And of course his newly acquired tower who might move or stay where he is. But Viserys has still both his horses, two bishops who changed their color. And most importantly his white queen who moves with him. And his own pawns, they are the most terrible soldiers money could, once upon a time, buy and they can move in any direction they want. Not to mention that he added a few new figures to the board. Three dragons. Yes, maybe today hasn't been so bad after all.

He has the priestess put in chains and interred at Castle Black. He does not know what to do with her. He should kill her. Yet, he's too scared to do so. Too scared of the power she wields, when the Undying never used to scare him like that. But she hurt his dragons. He won in the end, but there's something about her, something he doesn't know. 

Shireen and her mother, and Ser Davos accompany him to Castle Black. The remaining living Baratheon soldiers yield and bend the knee before him. Stannis Baratheon is not found, either live or dead, but the soldiers have only just started sifting through the masses of corpses, and he cares much more about burying his own than finding the corpse of a defeated enemy. And if indeed Stannis ran and left his people to die, so be it. He will find no friends in these lands, wherever he goes.

****

He comes back into their rooms, throwing off the heavy furr-coat. He looks at his two lovers.

"Warm me up." He grins.

His mind drifts to Meereen again. He wonders if things are alright. Wonders how far the work of rebuilding Yunkai is. Thinks of the battlements of Astapor where he would walk with Grey Worm.

How is it that dreadful, sandy place has become his home? Maybe it'll be different once he's out of that terrible cold that seems to burn right into his bones. He's worried about his dragons, despite Justice having fully recovered by now.

Daario strokes his hair where his head is lying on Drogo's chest. "You are mighty morose, for a man who just won a battle that lasted months." 

"I'm ecstatic."

"No– maybe about your success so far. But you don't like it here."

"I didn't like it in Meereen either, or Yunkai for that matter."

"The mercenary is right," Drogo comments offhandedly.

"You shut up." Viserys glowers. "Your fucking desert was the worst. Actually, good that you remind me. Now I can fully appreciate that they actually have houses here."

"Don't deflect." Daario says.

"Let it be, Naharis." Drogo says. "We're not leaving here. He's far too stubborn."

"Everyone talks about leaving. Why would I leave? You honestly think I'm going to leave because of a little trouble? I had nothing but trouble for over twenty years. I'm not afraid of war. I'm not some stupid, overwhelmed, pampered kid."

He receives two surprisingly synchronized snorts that should probably annoy him. But, no, today is still a good day. A very good one.

****

"I would talk to you now." an old man, wearing the cowl of a maester, says.

Viserys looks at the old maester, clearly a Targaryen. "Who are you?"

"I once use to be called Aemon Targaryen. I didn't think the day would come, that I'd ever meet another one of my family again."

"Have you been here all these years? How did you escape the massacre in King's Landing?" Viserys asks wide-eyed.

"I was always here."

Viserys expression turns hard at those words, all surprised awe draining away. "Why weren't you there? How could you close your eyes and ears?"

"You saw what's out there. I was here, guarding the lives of more than just my own. I told Jon the same thing when he wanted to save his family. And he understood, knew the necessity as I did back then."

"And you chose wrong." Viserys says. "You both chose wrong. I would not care if the world burned down behind me, if I had to save my family."

There's no forgiveness or understanding in Viserys. There can be none. Even when he's seen what's beyond the Wall. Even when he's seen the undead marching to take the land of the living. He feels more connected to those shunned away for thousands of years, who come for what, if they are powerful enough, is theirs to take, than he feels to this man who is his family by right and blood. 

Another Targaryen, after all this time. And all Viserys feels for him is disgust and a vacant sort of betrayal.

****

The whispered words spread like Wildfire through the lands. The dragons are back. The last two Targaryens have returned to the Seven Kingdoms. What so far has been only a rumour at best, has become undeniable with Stannis Baratheon's defeat.

And as always, Dorne has secured itself a seat in the front row.

****

Viserys lifts Rhaego up so he can look over the battlements.

"I know it's not particular beautiful and it's cold, but this will all belong to you one day."

Rhaego reaches out a hand to catch some of the snowflakes. Then swats a cold little hand into Viserys face.

"I like snow, Uncle Visy." Rhaego tells him happily.

"Oh gods, your father is going to love that news." Viserys kisses the top of his head. "Maybe you can become a forest rider or something."

"I want a horse."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're going to break something. You can have a dog." He smiles. "And maybe a dragon." He feels strangely proprietary of his dragons. Now that he has seven more, he thinks he might keep the first three to himself.

"Yes! Yes!" Rhaego screeches. "Please!"

"We have to see." Viserys smile softens. "They'll be really little and you have to treat them carefully."

"Like Jussy and Tessy and Venny."

"No." He chuckles. "They have to be careful with you. I have to say, though, they grew a lot faster than you."

Rhaego pouts. "I'm tall!"

****

"Do you think the Night's Watch is happy with their castles being manned with Wildlings, Dothraki and Unsullied?" Tyrion asks.

"I should hope so. And I did not hear any complaints."

"Because they're scared of you. How could they not be? Of a legendary king with three giant-ass dragons."

"What's the problem, then?"

"Fear of you won't stop this enmity between Watchers and Wildlings forever."

"You wouldn't think there was actually an army of the undead outside to worry about," Viserys drawls.

"People aren't always reasonable."

"If they're dumb enough to turn on each other with that outside, they deserve that my Unsullied throw them over the Wall."

"Weren't you almost dumb enough to ignore this threat in favor of getting your revenge?"

"Don't be such a fucking smartass, Tyrion. That's why you had to flee from King's Landing hidden in a crate."

"Yeah, yeah." Tyrion agrees good-naturedly, toasting his cup to Viserys. "By the way, were you satisfied? Was your entrance pompous enough? Do you think they're sufficiently scared in King's Landing now?"

Viserys snorts. "You still think that's what it's been about? Now look at this, Tyrion. If I took King's Landing and then come to the North I would be an usurper and conqueror, threatening their independence. If I come to them now, I will be their liberator, offering to lift the yoke of the Lannisters off their backs. They'll gladly accept me, slipping my own in it's place."

Tyrion is silent, awestruck for moment. "Why didn't you say so to begin with?"

"Oh, you know how I like to surprise you. And despite your claims to the opposite, you seem to have a pretty firm opinion of me formed."

"I will not underestimate you again."

"We'll see about that."


End file.
